


Learning to Feel

by I_Otaku



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: AND ITS REAL IMPORTANT TO ME, And a detective, Canon-Typical Violence, Cause he is, Connor x Reader - Freeform, DONT READ IF YOU DONT LIKE THAT, F/M, Familial Relationship, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, I aim to fix that, Let Connor cry 2k18, Markus and Simon are boyfriends sorry I don't make the rules, OH BY THE WAY HANK IS A GAY POST OP TRANS MAN, Please im begging you, Reader is a surrogate daughter to hank, Sorry Not Sorry, Sumo is the real mvp here, The boy didn't get any real emotions except angry confused and happy, also i just wrote gavin reed as an asshole, blease be nice to me, guys i guess this is cancelled lol, like hes probably ooc but too bad, literally no feedback means that this is not ever gonna get finished, please comment, rating for swearing and some descriptions, this was way too much fucking work to have it just sit here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-06-17 19:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 39,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15468525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Otaku/pseuds/I_Otaku
Summary: As a child you had an extended interaction with the Detroit Police Department, specifically one Hank Anderson who you would come to know as a father figure. After you grew up and became part of that force, you worked alongside him and many others. You were capable and talented, you were offered a position on the east coast as a result. A transfer. Hank supported you, and you left.Now, it's been a few years. A year since androids been freed, you caught wind of what happened in Detroit and asked to transfer back home. You arrive to hear that Hank was part of the android uprising, and more importantly, the famous deviant hunter gone deviant was assigned to him. His name is Connor, and you honestly feel rather starstruck. He's skilled, and a good person. Perhaps a little too good, you feel yourself having complicated emotions when it comes to him (curse his handsome design and nice voice).But does Connor love? Can he? What will you do, when you're falling for an android who may not even understand love? Much less be able to experience it himself? Alongside Hank, you work with Connor to help him truly become human. You hold his hand and walk with him as he learns what emotions are, and help him learn to feel.





	1. Chapter 1

His synthetic fingertips dance along the wood of Hank’s desk, tapping out the rhythm to one of the songs he had heard in the car ride to work. The station seems to buzz just slightly, humans and androids alike mingling around while Connor is content to take the lieutenant’s seat and wait.

He taps out the bass line with his other hand now too. Idly he cycles through information on the lieutenant, whom he recognizes as dressed up today, a trimmed beard and hair brushed. No human birthdays, anniversaries, celebrations of any kind. Sumo’s birthday does seem to be on the horizon although it wouldn’t make very much sense for the detroit police force to be celebrating that particular event. As is Cole’s, but that again is not something to be celebrated to this degree.

His mind routes through possibilities as Connor sits.

Situation number one, some kind of commemorative situation, the building of the station, hiring or promotion of an influential member. Not likely, more than a few of the officers were newly hired or transferred as DPD station #8-06 became a co-optional android and human taskforce. (He fondly remembers Lieutenant Anderson vouching for him in becoming a truly trained professional and remaining as his partner) Improbable.

Situation number two, the return of some sort of important task force member. Much more likely if the lieutenant’s actions (uncharacteristically happy) are anything to go off of.

So the return of an officer, one who had a rather large influence on many of the officers. He begins accessing the personnel files when he hears a cheer. Looking up Connor retracts his fingers, seeing the front door to the station open and more than a few members jog forward or yell (whoop, holler, etc.)

“Hey hey! Lemme at ‘er.” Lieutenant Anderson- _Hank, Connor corrects himself, the nerves really getting to him- Hank_ steps towards the newly entered figure, elbowing between two of the people that had nearly cocooned the figure.

“Ah, thanks Hank.”

 

Connor stands and stands straight, watching the exchanges between this figure and the members of the police force. He knows not to intrude, this is a personal matter after all. He has no need or right to interact with this person- and his train of thought is interrupted as Hank takes this person by the shoulders (he throws his arm over their shoulders, almost a side hug Connor notices) and pulls them over to his desk. A few people follow behind, but most of those present either are content with their greeting or return to work as Hank brings his company over.

The first thing Connor notices is that Hank’s friend is absolutely gorgeous. Not exactly beautiful in the conventional way, but the slight lean of her head, soft but deep [color] eyes, [color] hair that curls just slightly, hanging just past her shoulders. Shorter than him but still relatively tall for human women in this area with the smallest splashing of freckles. She smiles and it’s as if the biocomponents in Connor’s core spark, like his Thirium rushes and LED spins like a buffering icon on speed. She lets out a soft giggle at something one of the other humans said, and Connor stares.

 

Hank is smiling, laughing and interacting with many of the other humans present, more social and interactive than almost Connor’s entire time knowing him. He turns, a half smile still on his lips as he pats his friends shoulder.

“___,  this is Connor. Connor, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. This is ___ ___.” He says, standing up from (How did Connor not notice?) his partial slouch on the woman’s shoulders.

“Connor, oh you must be _the_ Connor! It’s a pleasure and an honor to meet you.” She nods her head a little bit, extending her [skin tone] hand.

Words don’t come at first, Connor is still staring until his motor retches just slightly and he shoots a hand up to grab ___s.

“Connor… Connor Rk800 serial number 313-”

“Ah jesus Connor you don’t gotta introduce yourself to people like that anymore, remember?” Hank returns his attention to the two of them and chastises him.

And finishing the (gentle) handshake, Connor attempts to regain some of his lost composure. “I do lieutenant, memory loss is primarily a human problem coinciding with aging. I’m glad you should find that as your top priority.”

Hank raises his eyebrows, there’s a small chorus of ‘ooh’s and a lone whistle and both find themselves smiling as ___ instead bursts into a small fit of giggles.

 

She wipes her eyes and takes a deep breath, looking over at Hank. “There’s the Connor you mentioned, I love the sass.” She looks over at him now, “In all the news coverage you were so stone faced. Glad to see you really are someone who can put dad-beard in his place.”

Connor’s LED whirrs again, and he just nods gently. ‘Dad-Beard’, Hank Anderson is only registered as the biological father of the late Cole Anderson, deceased October 11th 2035, no following relationships or adoptive children. But this woman has just referred to the lieutenant in a paternal manner, indicating strong emotional and social connection with connotation the man himself does not appear to be offended by or in denial of.

“Christ, dad-beard? Thought by now you woulda come up with a better insult kid.”

Kid.

She laughs again, she punches him in the arm (it does no physical damage) and another human reaches over to ___, pulling the woman into a hug. They both start talking, ___ cheers and gasps as the other human woman tells her some kind of story.

 

Hank is still smiling, he crosses his arms and watches ___ interact with the other task force members. Connor drops his hands to his sides, and watches as well. He lets the humans have their moment, and when he turns to Hank, he’s already looking at him in return.

“You wanna ask me a personal question?” He snarks, returning to watching his company.

“If I may Lieutenant.” Connor’s voice tweaks a little bit, his chest rattles in an unexpected way.

“Shoot.”

“What is your relation to ___ ___?” He says, looking at him.

Hank sighs, and rubs at the back of his head. “I was relatively new on the force, got called for a domestic on a real busy stormy day. Brought this kid into the station and it was like she brought the sunshine in. The case itself was nasty, bloody. But after, the kid ended up in a new home, and promised everyone she would work with us someday.

“And she actually did. A coupla years younger than most of us here but we remembered her. Helped her out. She got actually got into the force. Transferred way out on great skills.”

Hank reaches into his trench coat pocket, and pulls out an old, short string covered in pony beads of different colors. It’s a small keychain, a few letter beads towards the bottom where a laminated pickaxe charm hangs (dented, folded and scuffed up). The letters spell ‘GRUMP’ and Hank twirls it between his fingers.

“And now she has returned?” Connor asks, returning to vaguely observe the group of people in the center of the station.

“Yeah.” Hank says, he starts saying something else when he coughs, wiping his mouth on his left sleeve and taking a few deep breaths.

 

“Hank, you alright?” ___ asks, saying a few quick things to the women she was talking to before walking back over to he and Connor. Hank waves her off, where ___ purses her lips and pulls Hank forward by the lapel of his jacket. She reaches around and pats his back searching for a specific spot, before she hits Hank’s back with an open palm making him jolt, standing straight upright.

“Fuckin’ hell kid-” he starts, before she sticks her tongue out.

“It still works ‘cause you’re still an old grouch with bad posture.” she says, keeping her hand on his arm in a gentle hold.

“And so what if I am?” He smirks mischievously and ___ laughs again.

“Nice to see some things never change, dickhead.”

“Yeah yeah.” Hank says, flashing the woman a small peace sign before reaching up and messing with her hair. She laughs, (she seems to laugh so frequently, bringing the contagious smiles and upbeat attitude of the other members Hank especially) and swats at his hand, before turning to look at Connor. Connor blinks a few times, refocusing and smiles a little awkwardly at her. ___s eyes go soft for just a moment, in a way Connor can’t quite place until she strikes Hank’s chest with an open palm, not even remotely hurting him but the lieutenant giving in and returning his hands to his pockets.

 

“Why, is that ___? Little miss sunshine?” A voice rings from the back of the room where an android stands, leaning rather heavily on a broom and wearing a janitor's uniform.

“Audine!” She cheers, her long coat flipping behind her, running to the android. She stops for just a second and throws her arms around them. The android laughs in return, also hugging her. Connor watches mesmerized, his biocomponents thrumming again at the realization you were as kind and fair as you appeared.

 

Hank meanwhile sighs happily, diverting his attention from watching her to looking at Connor.

“She’s like the stations kid.” He says, “A kid sister…”

“Surrogate daughter?” Connor finishes, still watching her interact with the android as the two laugh and swap stories. The woman laughs loud and unabashed, and openly shows care for Audine.

“Yeah. Not for me though. Definitely not.” Hank says.

Connor smiles, and returns to looking at his partner. “Well, in that case the pleasantries have been taken care of Lieutenant. Let us finish the paperwork from yesterday and begin looking into new reported cases.” Connor takes the seat next to Hank’s desk, who huffs before following suit.

Connor begins scanning and computing the reports of their previous case, Hank popping out a pen and chewing on the cap as he transcribes. The large group calms down, splits up and officers return to their scheduled work. Minutes tick by, leading to hours.

Hank excuses himself for a few minutes as Connor takes his pile of documents and begins uploading them to the DPD server.

* * *

 

A gentle hand grabs his attention, Connor turning to see the human who needed him.

“Oh, sorry if I interrupted,” ___ says, “I couldn’t see your light, I wasn’t sure if-” she’s holding a small peace sign up with her fingers, that move to tangle in her hair.

“No you’re quite alright Miss ___, can I help you with something?” Connor looks up at her from his seat.

“I don’t mean to intrude, but do you know where Hank went? I wanted to talk to him about some things. Paperwork mostly.” She sighs, and touches her hair. “It’s crazy that as soon as I get back I get saddled with a totally different paperwork methodology and system.” She sighs again, an embarrassed smile on her lips.

“In all honesty, I don’t recommend the lieutenant for that specific activity ___. I could offer my assistance instead?” He offers, gesturing to the lieutenant’s abandoned chair.

“Really? I’d love it.” She drops down into Hank’s chair, “If you could give me a rundown of the system, give me an example?”

Connor touches his chin pragmatically and nods. “I would need a body to run, if I may?”

“Scan away.” She says, twirling her hands in the air. With a small smile, Connor begins projecting his intermind port, a small hologram appearing between the two parties, but just off to the side. He looks at her, LED spinning yellow as his eyes link with hers. Information comes spilling in, birthdate, blood type, occupation, living location, living and deceased relatives, preferences, he blinks a few times as more than a few internet dating profiles pop up which Connor (none too subtle) leaves open is smaller pop up windows.

 

He exhales, and blinks a few times as he cracks his knuckles. “Alright, the information has been collected and files accessed.”

“Alright, now in the old system we could just connect to this screen, and link the documents of the typed up report and them together.”

“Ah, now in the system I have been programmed in, the files and reports are uploaded by directly editing them in this window.”

“So no indirect mess ups, or attaching the wrong file to the wrong file?”

“The incidents of these sort of thing occurring has dropped significantly because of that, yes. So if I were to say, attach a case or something of the sort to your file,” as Connor speaks his screen meanders, selecting the drop down menu and following through the new system. His eye catches on a small collection of files with a date long past and labels pertaining to situations he can’t help but notice.

DOMESTIC

TRIAL

His LED whirrs again and Connor pretends to not notice. “We could… do so from directly in the window. It is possible to import other documents such as scans and uploads but edits and server based requests are easier and quicker, and more successful.”

“Oh, so,” She gestures to the pile of long abandoned stacks of digital pads and a few very old paper folders on her desk. “That’s gonna take a while to deal with, transfer and all.”

“I’m afraid so, but I can again offer my assistance.” Connor begins closing his windows, ending the display before closing all of them.

“I’d really appreciate it to be honest,” She smiles and fidgets with her hair. “But you’ve got your own work to do. I can’t exactly go stealing Hank’s partner even if they are as kind as you.” She doesn’t look at him as she stands, but gives him a thumbs up. “Thanks for the catch up, now that I know what I’m doing I’ll get to work. Thanks again Connor!”

“Not… Not a problem.” Connor says, although it’s not exactly loud enough for her to hear.

___ returns to her desk before taking off her long coat and Connor watches her start to crack down on her work. In his system he idly examines the remaining windows on ___.

Birthdate, blood type, he looks into the general information and hits a block when he reaches the previous files. He could, he’s linked into the DPD system and the case is openly accessible, but his mind falters. It just crosses a line, a still newly gained sense of morality weighing hard on Connor. He closes the window after a few seconds of consideration, and instead jumps to the online dating profiles.

 _She prefers dogs over cats. Her favorite color is blue. She-_ Connor’s mild snooping is interrupted by Hank’s hand hitting his shoulder, breaking his attention.

“You’re staring.” Hank says.

Connor looks up, blinking.

“You’re staring.”

“She requested assistance in assessing the new documentation Lieutenant.” Connor says, feeling himself become confused (and defensive?). “I assisted her and wanted to ensure she was going about the change in systems successfully.”

Hank grabs the handle of Connor’s chair, spinning it as he walks around and takes his seat. Connor sits, letting it happen. Hank leans back in his chair, picks his pen back up and sticks the end in his mouth.

“So you finished the uploads then?”

“Almost.”

“I’m gonna start looking through the new cases then, I’ll consult you if I hit something.” Hank says, extending one leg out to effectively contain Connor close to the desk.

“Duly noted lieutenant.”

* * *

 

“Got somethin’.” Hank says, spitting his pen cap to bounce across his desk. Connor finishes the last document and quickly saves and double saves his progress, adjusting himself in his chair.

Hank looks at him for a split second before he starts talking. “We’ve been gettin’ a lot of lawsuits and restraining orders but this seems different. An android wants a restraining order and to accuse a human of homicide.”

“And we’re just now hearing about this?”

“ ‘pparently.” Hank murmurs. “Says it was a kidroid. So when they showed up nobody took ‘em seriously.”

“Do you feel it important enough to visit? Investigate?”

Hank grumbles something under his breath, _“Long as you don’t stick anything in your mouth,”_ and stands up. “Yeah, might be somethin’ going down. And this is our _speciality_ after all.” He drags out the ‘speciality’ and pulls on his trenchcoat, adjusting his patterned shirt. Connor stands quickly after, tightening his tie and following the Lieutenant through the station, giving ___ a small wave which she returns.

* * *

 

You see Connor and Hank leave the station, hopping into Hank’s old car and take off. Alright, you wouldn’t say you lean out of your seat to watch them go but…

Audine is walking by and brains you in the back of the head with a mop handle from their cart. “Oops.” They say with no regret as you rub your head and whine.

“Hey!”

“You watchin’ Hank and Connor, you deserved it Sunshine.” They smile, tapping their LED, which flashes. They lean on their wheeled cart, janitor jumpsuit unbuttoned at the top and revealing their white tank top.

You blow air through your teeth, and droop your shoulders. Looking up at them with a side-eye you speak. “That obvious?”

“Not quite yet, but watch it.”

“You know me so well.” You grin.

“That I do.”

“So, you heading to clock out?” You ask while you return to piling your datapads.

“Yeah.” They say almost wistfully, “Turns out I get paid, and only work the day shift now.”

“Oh shit, that’s great!” You clap your hands together, just giving up on doing anything else while Audine is around.

“Yeah! Hoping I can find another job to do overnights, don’t quite have enough bank to find a place to stay or a place to stay itself.” They scratch their chin idly, “Probably should get on that.”

“Audine! Alright, you’re staying with me then. No buts.”

“Kid-”

“Hey, I’m a grown up now. I can legally gamble and get wasted. No longer a kid.” You say, holding up a finger to emphasize before rubbing your eyes. “What’s the time?”

“Hmm, about ten.” They say, running a hand over their cart to brush off dust.

“Aren’t you an android? Shouldn’t you know stuff like that down to the millisecond?”

“Oh, so you spoke to Mister ‘doesn’t know how to sit in a chair’ and suddenly got a head fulla opinions?” They say, already pushing the janitorial cart to the small station in a far off corner of the station.

“Hey-! Wait a minute…” You jump to your feet, grabbing your trench coat and thinking about how Connor sat. “ _Well_ -”

Audine returns, already laughing and it makes you giggle alongside them as you lock up your desk and leave the station. A bit early, but you technically came in before you were official (You wanted to see everyone and get a headstart on your work anyway) so it can wait.

 

“I found a place closeby, walking distance.” You say, “Leverette street.”

“Block down from Nemo’s?” They ask, stuffing their hands in their pockets.

“Yeah, planning to check it out soon. Any good?”

“Real good, and real cheap.” They reply, tugging at the jumpsuit they had tied around their waist.

The air is damp and a bit dirty, you can hear the cars driving by, the overpass nearby and a few dogs. You talk with Audine, about what you missed, what you experienced away, and eventually you reach your home. It’s modest, a small section of a larger complex more of a townhouse than the apartment the rental agency advertised. But you’ve found it very comfy, and aside from your piles of boxes it’s already starting to feel like home.

You unlock the front door, giving it a gentle kick to swing open.

“It’s one bedroom, but the couch is very nice.” You say, letting Audine in. They enter and look around snickering at the mountains of junk you have everywhere.

“Hey, I just flew in today, I’m just glad all my shit is here.”

They nod, and hold up their hands in defeat. “Alright, alright.”

“Hungry?” You pull off your jacket, hanging it on the stand and taking your keys. Your holster comes off immediately after, your hands check to make sure the safety is on and you set the whole shebang on the end table in the hall. Your shirt gets untucked, shoes kicked off and hair pulled back as you walk to the kitchen.

“No, rather just be in debt for home, not home and food.” They say with a smile clear in their words. “Wouldn’t do any good.”

“Alright, I’m grabbin’ myself some food. Help yourself if you need anything other than that.” You grab a few snacks from the cabinet and make your way up the stairs. Popping some in your mouth you open your bedroom door, sighing happily as you fall onto your mattress. Time to unwind, and sleep.

* * *

 

Your alarm rings through your room at five thirty, and you sigh into the pillow you had wrapped yourself around. Schlepping yourself upright you stretch, hearing a satisfying chorus of pops as your back sings. You grab your phone, turning off your alarm and setting it down on the bed before getting dressed for the day. You still have two days until you can officially start work as a detective, so you make a mental not to maybe _not_ walk around the city packing heat until your badge is returned. You slide on a simple white dress shirt and slacks, fixing up your hair when the phone on your bed starts to ring.

Picking it up you see Hank’s number appear, a very unflattering image of him with you (You demanded he take you out to the nearest gay bar when you were offered your distant position, and the two of you had a good time) fills the screen as you answer.

“Hank? What’s up, usually you’re not awake for another six hours.”

“Detective?”

“Connor? What’s wrong?” Your brows crease, and you start walking towards the stairs with more intent than you’d care to admit.

“Hank and I got caught up in an altercation, could you meet us at the station as soon as possible?” Connor’s voice is strained, like he’s under pressure or carrying something. You hear some kind of mumbling or groaning that you think is Hank.

“I can be there like, now.” you say, practically stomping down the stairs. Audine rises from the couch, watching you and understanding your frenzied head-jerks towards the door as ‘we gotta leave’. They adjust their clothes and follow you, locking the door for you while you continue walking and talking.

“Thank you,” Connor says, “We’ll see you there.”

Before you can reply the line goes dead, and you’re walking briskly to the station, catching your keys as Audine throws them to you.

 

“What’s up?”

“Something’s up with Hank and Connor,” you say, fidgeting with a loose lock of hair.

“I’m sure they’re fine sunshine.” they say, patting your shoulder as you both walk, turning the two corners and crossing the street to the DPD.

“I hope so.” You look through the clear doors, catching your eye on Hank’s empty desk and instead stand outside. You give Audine a pat on the arm as they go to clock in early, and you listen intently to the few cars driving by and the early morning ambiance of the city.

You begin pacing after about a minute, and when Connor yells you turn heel.

 

“Detective!” He’s walking up the street, is face is smeared with blue blood and more importantly he has Hank hanging off one of his shoulders.

“Hank!” You yell, taking off towards them, closing the gap and immediately pressing your hands to Hank’s face. “Connor, Connor what happened?” You don’t look at him, you find Hank’s pulse (a bit slow), and surprisingly he moves to swat your hand away.

“He fell from a second story landing, I’ve done primary alignment scans in regards to his vertebra and none are broken or impacted. No extreme interior damage, extensive bruising and expected fatigue but no bleeding.”

“Christ dad, with your shit balance and posture you just had to do this huh?!” You snap, Hank spitting more than a few swears back at you. You move to his opposite side, linking hands with Connor and doing your best to help straighten Hank’s posture. You think Connor jerks a little when you take his hand and hold it tight, but you’re not quite sure if it’s Connor or Hank so you let it slide. Hank is a fair bit of deadweight, he’s hunched over and his words are short and crass through the pain.

 

The two of you get him to the station, kicking around some empty space on the floor next to his desk and slowly laying him down on the tile.

“Okay. Okay.” You say, tugging at some of your loose hairs and twirling them as fast as your fingers can move. “Connor, reach into his desk, second drawer from the left, two down and grab the small bottle of whiskey he has in there. Take the cork out.” You kneel down next to Hank (who starts calling you a rather colorful string of insults) and start feeling his back through his jacket. There are more than a few stray bumps and muscle knots that make him wince as you survey. Connor squats next to Hanks head, and as he tries to put the cork in his mouth Hank clamps his lips shut.

“At least it tastes like whiskey, you’re gonna need something when I get down to this.” You spit, and you look up to speak to Connor when he projects exactly what you were looking for, multiple scans of Hank’s back from different angles. You hesitate for just a moment, before scanning the information and finding the problem areas and starting your work.

“The movement is all dorsal, slightly lateral. Did you land on your _stomach_ ?” You say, finding the first problem and beginning to massage the muscle. “You could’ve _died_ Anderson! That should have broken more than a few of your ribs!”

Hank doesn’t respond, and when you look up you see Connor has pinched him by the nose, and is staring him down with a (honestly rather cute) stern expression. Right, Hank wouldn’t take the cork. After a few seconds he gives, taking a deep breath through his mouth and being greeted with the cork stuffed between his teeth.

You barely suppress a laugh, and your hands move to press firmly down. “Connor, flash two fingers in front of his eyes.” Connor nods, doing so and you shoved down hard, feeling Hank’s muscles tense before a very satisfying _pop!_

Hank himself is groaning loud, you can catch the beginnings and ends of swears as you look back up at Connor’s projections and move to the next spot. You do two more, Connor scooting back to give you more space and assessing his own damages as you take it away.

 

Connor wipes some of the blood from his face, smearing the blue liquid across his cheek before he tries to fix his dishevelled hair. It catches your eye and you watch him for a few moments.

“Connor, again.” Your heart beats harder than you’d care to admit and you divert your attention. You lean down next to Hank’s ear as you work on the next area.

“And I take it back, I’ll let you off the hook for a few seconds.”  You shove the next bone back into place. Hank yells in pain, balling fists and slamming them against the tile to hopefully cover your whisper.

“Is that all?” You ask, your hands starting to shake.

Connor scoots close again, doing another scan and nodding. The projections update and Hank looks up, spitting the cork up to hit between Connor’s eyes.

 

“For fucks fuckin’ sake you two-”

“Oh I so do _not_ want to hear it from _you_ -” You stand, leaning heavily on the desk.

“I could offer the full story if that would be best for the both of you.” Connor says as he helps hank into his chair, the old fuck sitting down and immediately melting.

You and Hank both make the same ‘alright, hurry up’ rolling hand gesture, and Connor starts explaining, closing the projections and instead opening a window to create a transcript as he talks.

 

“We left the station at nine forty seven to investigate the report filed by the android identifying as Unova, a custom created mix using primarily components of the android system YK500. This makes them appear very young. We arrived at the location and spoke to Unova, collecting information on their case against the human David Carnegie who created them and many others.

“After releasing them from his control following the revolution, Carnegie allegedly began hunting these androids in the beliefs that they belonged to him. Unova spoke to us and informed us of three previous victims; Gracie, Trent and Amelia who they believed to have been killed by Carnegie. Unable to supply factual evidence we suggested a restraining order and to drop the charges. Unova began arguing in retaliation, saying that they and other androids were in danger. They demanded we stay and listen.

“We spoke more about Carnegie, his estate, other androids made or modified by his hand, and Unova themselves. At approximately three am shots were fired by an unknown subject into the common room of Unova’s living establishment.”

You twirl hair around your finger and nod.

“Neither the agents present or the informant were injured in the firing. I took Unova and attempted to escape out the back, while Lieutenant Anderson brandished his weapon and hid, waiting for the assailant to enter the home. Entering through the back door was another unknown subject, firing on me, where I received nonlethal mainframe damage and then attempted to get to the second floor and hide the informant, and draw my weapon to incapacitate the second intruder.

“Nine shots were fired after I ascended the stairs and deposited Unova in their bedroom. I drew my weapon and incapacitated the figure pursuing me, knocking them down the stairs with a shot to the right shoulder. Lieutenant Anderson then ascended the stairs, yelling for both Unova and I. He entered the room, barricading the door and pulling open the window, telling the two of us to climb out from the window. The first figure would be approaching soon and-”

“Be fuckin’ pissed.”

“Be in an enraged state. I exited the window first, followed by Unova, then the Lieutenant. I ran to the edge, leaping down and sustaining minimal damage. I was prepared to catch Unova, as the primary unsub appeared. They shoved the Lieutenant from the roof ledge, grabbing Unova before they could leap, and taking them back into the house.

“I assessed the damages done at that moment and decided to assist Hank, who had fallen from the roofing. He landed in a bush, attempting to fall into a roll and landing on larger branches.”

“Ensuring he sustained no life threatening damage, I attempted to pursue the unsubs and their hostage through the house, finding the incapacitated and the enraged were both gone. They had taken Unova with them. I found Lieutenant Anderson’s car shot, making it unusable.”

“They shot my fuckin’ car?!” Hank groans.

“One strategic bullet, to the fuel canister. Possible to fix, impossible to use to pursue with. I returned the the Lieutenant, and assisted him, leaving the scene at four ten am. Traveling on foot towards the DPD I contacted another officer to assist the recovery of the Lieutenant at four forty am. End transcript.” Connor looked up at you, seated on the floor. Hank rolled his head to the side.

“Four? I got your call at five forty.”

“Where’d you get transferred kid?” Hank asked.

“East coast.”

“Congrats, you’re a time traveler and you didn’t wind your clocks back.” Hanks says, color returning to his face and his humor returning. In every way it was comforting, reassuring that he really was okay. A smile worms onto your face and one appears on Hanks as well.

“Alright. Anyway, at least you didn’t have a choice in your flying feat.” You say, pulling yourself up to sit on Hank’s desk.

“Think I’m that batshit?” Hank says, fake shock in his voice.

“Not that far off.” You reply, a shaky smile on your lips. “Glad you’re both alive.” You say, looking down at Connor and creasing your brows. “Wait, Connor- what’s your damage?”

“Nonlethal and only slight impact on motor function. I can prolong my replacement of components until after the case report and the Lieutenant are taken care of.”

“Well, call me christ cause I’ve just got a healing touch.” You say, standing up from the desk and reaching a hand down to him. “Come on, fixed up Hank so you’re next.” He looks up at you, and blinks a few times before reaching up and taking your hand. He squeezes a bit too tight but it feels okay, and you let go when he’s standing. “Do you need my shoulder? I know I’m not that tall but if you might fall I’m sure we can make it work.”

Connor nods sheepishly, threading his arm over your shoulders.

 

“Hank, don’t get up or I’ll shoot you myself.” You say over your shoulder, walking to sectioned off breakroom. You carefully deposit Connor on one of the chairs, walking over to a low cabinet. After a few seconds pulling the handles you growl, and walk to stick your head out the door and yell for Audine.

They round a corner, pulling a small set of keys from their belt and throw them to you through the door.

“What are those for?”

“Audine and I, well more like a few of us stockpiled spare parts, anything salvageable from destroyed androids or free trial parts sent to upgrade our models.” You say, unlocking the cabinet and opening it, taking the keys back to the door and throwing them back. “Thanks! Anyway,” you turn back to Connor. “I don’t know a whole lot, but I can read the labels. Tell me what you need and I can toss it to ya.”

 

He lists off parts, blissfully he was damaged in the more common biocomponents meaning you could offer all three he needed urgently. He listed some others you had never heard of but he was understanding. As you dig through the cabinet Connor hoists himself up from the chair and from the corner of your eye you see him lay face down on the table.

Thirium dribbles down his chair and you grab some towels before dropping his parts on the table next to him. You set a small dish down next to him for the bullets as well.

“Can you reach your-” You say, throwing a towel onto his chair before Connor’s head pops from his neck, spinning a rapid one eighty and looking at you. You scream, and point at him.

“Warning! _Jesus,_ didn’t know you could do that! Nobody I know can!”

“It’s quite alright detective, as the negotiator I was not designed or built to take extensive damage however I am more than equipped to handle situations that the typical human could not.” His arms move (thankfully staying in their sockets) quickly to pull apart the fabric panels of his jacket, exposing his now tinted blue dress shirt. Again he tears the Thirium soaked fabric, exposing his pale skin for just a moment before the fake skin disappears.

You watch him get to work, quiet as his hands go into his wounds and pull out the bullets embedded inside him.

“Fuck-” You moan, adjusting yourself uncomfortably leaning against the break room sink. “You really can’t _feel_ that?”

Connor doesn’t answer immediately, and when he does it’s slightly more robotic than you’re used to. “The excess weight and disruption of my biocomponents is noticeable and the removal of them under my best circumstances is still causing minute damage to my system.”

The first bullet is removed and dropped in the small dish.

“You don’t feel the pain?”

“I do not feel anything detective.” He says, and something feels off in your chest. You don’t reply and the room goes quiet.

He extracts the second, and you can only guess he strikes something in his center, his arms jerking and face contorting.

“Thought you couldn’t feel pain!” You say, words teasing and tone concerned.

“Shock, small circuit overheating.” He says, carefully extracting the third bullet and depositing it.

“Do you… _want_ to feel things?” You ask, trying to make idle chitchat.

Again he doesn’t immediately answer.

 

“I think… it would be an extreme sensation that I may not be prepared to handle at this moment.” His voice tweaks slightly. “I can respond to temperature, distinguish textures, most of the things you can. But pain is unnecessary.”

“Pain is what makes us human.” You say without realizing, twirling a lock of your hair around your finger.

 

The room is quiet as Connor opens his bodily panels, accessing the damaged biocomponents and replacing them one by one.

“So do you feel comfort? Reassurance?” You ask, again trying to fill the silence.

“In certain aspects, yes. Vocal cues I recognize, tunes and voices. I have not experienced the comfort of the physical sorts with anyone. I believe you had a strong relationship with Audine? Have you not spoken of these sort of things with them?” He looks up at you, weird elongated neck and hands rummaging around in his back, still dribbling Thirium onto the table.

“Fuck- that’s weird.” You say, laughing awkwardly and burying your face in your hand. “Uh- I mean I’ve talked to them about it. When I was young I was real interested in androids. I know each works differently, everyone is unique. And you’re special Connor.” You say, smiling fondly. “You went deviant and lately joined the rebellion, helping deal a massive blow. Didn’t start it, didn’t join ‘till late, but you learned. Made for the purpose of hunting deviants and you rebelled yourself.”

Connor returns to focusing on his work.

“And I mean, you took three bullets for somebody, that’s real admirable too. And here you are operating on yourself!” You gesture to him, his head tuning back to face the table and sliding back into place. He pushes up from the table slowly, dripping blue blood as he takes the seat in the chair again.

 

“How are you feeling?” You ask, walking back to his side, flashing two fingers before you put a hand on his shoulder.

“Running secondary scan, motor capabilities restored to full function. Leakage indicated in dorsal area, flow reduced to .5 milliliters per minute.” His eyes flicker back and forth a few times, but says nothing else.

“Uh oh, still leakin’ huh?” You say, pulling the towel up from the back of his chair. “Here, take off your trashed shirts, I’ll wrap you up. I can grab you something from my house in a bit.”

“That won’t be necessary detective-”

“___.” You say.

“_-___,” Connor stutters, “That really won’t be required, Thirium-”

“Dissolves after a set amount of time. But nobody-‘specially not Hank- wants you to walk around bleedin’ all over the goddamn place.”

Connor gives in, pulling the ripped jacket and dress shirt forward off his torso to reveal pale and freckled skin. It’s really cute, all of the small details that were put into his false skin.

“Warning.” You murmur, pressing the towel onto his back where the holes remain. It ties in the front of him, something (thankfully) he does. “Well, I guess for now you can take this.” You start taking off your long jacket, and place it open over his shoulders.

“I suppose we don’t have much of a choice, Hank most certainly does not keep extra clothes at the station.” He replies, pulling it closer to _almost_ meet at his center. Curse his broader shoulders that leave just enough cleavage for you to stare for a few seconds.

“I don’t think Hank has enough shirts to reach the double digits.” You laugh, Connor standing up and laughing as well.

“Thank you- ___. I appreciate what you’ve done, for the both of us.” He says, and your heart thrums again. His voice sounds different, but again you’re not sure if you’re being hopeful and imagining things.

“Not a problem Connor. Might wanna really wipe off your chin though, don’t think everyone else is into the beaten up aesthetic.” You give him a smile, and make your way back to the central area of the station.

 

_Wait did you just-_

_....Fuck._

* * *

 

“Hank, _Hank, Hank_ how you doing?” You said, a little bit too loud to be natural as you swing your arms quick and walk quicker. He looks up at you, raising one eyebrow and rubbing his back.

“I’m fine kid, what happened with you?”

“Nothing! Nothing.” You reply, rolling up your dress shirt sleeves and sitting down at your own desk.

Connor emerges from the breakroom, hair still messy but thankfully his face cleaned. It’s very obvious he’s wearing your jacket and a few other officers hazard a glance as he returns to Hank’s desk. Hank himself looks over him, then you. The eyebrow goes down and up again. You take a deep breath and focus, using the few seconds away from Connor to compose yourself again.

“He got shot, ruined his clothes. Had to give him something.”

Connor nods, taking his seat and opening up projection menus within the DPD server. You appreciate him not throwing you under the bus, and vow to keep a tighter rein on your emotions.

Hank makes a humming noise low in his throat, grabbing a pen from his desk to chew on it. “Interesting. Kid, start looking into any and everything you can get on Carnegie. I’m gonna start makin’ calls.”

“What, no thank you for the spine alignment?” You say, already swiping through your tablets to begin synching them to the server as Connor showed you.

“Not exactly the kind I wanted ___.” He retorts, swiveling in his chair as his line goes through.

You barely stifle a laugh.

 

You hear them talking as the work day swings back into place, see the two of them talking and planning just outside your work bubble. One tablet connected, then two, then five, you start separating them by ‘filed in duplicate’ and ‘untouched’, an imposing collection of just base transfer information you’ll have to do before you can get on the payroll.

Connor talks, disappears for a while, gone to catalog something. Hank follows as they get results on the bullets. They sit and theorize, they sit in silence, Hank takes a few bathroom breaks, Connor distracts you on occasion with a wave or look.

* * *

 

You rub your eyes and notice a tingling at the back of your throat. Stretching in your chair, you realize you had run out of the house before even grabbing a cup of coffee. You go to grab your phone and keys, before remembering they’re in your coat pocket.

Which Connor is wearing.

Great.

 

“Connor?” You ask, standing up and trying to fix your hair.

“Yes?” He says, not turning or typically acknowledging you.

“My phone’s in my pocket, same with my keys. I need to go grab some coffee at the least, can you hand them to me?”

“Of course,” reaching into the pockets he hands you your phone, followed by your keys.

“Get me a coffee.” Hank murmurs, covering his receiver with one hand.

“Oh, you buying?” You say, twirling your keys and smiling.

“You do know who you’re talking to, right?” Connor says, looking over his shoulder.

 

You’re floored for just a moment, the sheer commonality of his sentence making you smile wide. “You spoke like a real person!”

He freezes up for a second, “Well, I suppose I do not have to speak with informality if it bothers you-”

“No, no that’s not what I meant. It’s really nice Connor.” You soften your smile at him, raising your shoulders just slightly. “I like it.”

Connor nods curtly, adjusting your jacket.

“I’ll be back, after food I’ll find a hoodie or something for you to wear, alright? I’ll bring it around. Gimme like, two hours? Probably less.”

* * *

 

Connor again adjusts the jacket on his shoulders and fiddles with his fingers. He watches you leave and works on managing his projections.

He compiles and takes notes on any and everything he can. He keeps ears out in chat logs and suspicious websites, attempts to contact Carnegie through listed emails with his previous employment address. Time ticks by.

Slowly unlinking himself from his body and further into the DPD server Connor feels himself sink down into his chair.

 

A few replies appear in his chats, he comes into contact with androids who claim to have been edited by Carnegie, one who has escaped completely. They all run their conversations through VPNs, protected and not volunteering any information but offering sympathy.

It’s infuriating to him. They aren’t being of any help, but a larger part of him understands. It’s not fair, but on either side of the argument. No human or android is deserving of torture, of that which Carnegie imparted especially.

He finds out the “work” imparted on each android he comes into contact with. Artificial implants of nerves, extensive electrocution, body part replacement, replanting of memory drives and the artificial consciousness that exists within each android. Bloodletting, maiming, murder and revivals, forced resets that damage the hardware _only_ to damage them. There’s no pain, as androids feel none. Whether that’s better or worse, he isn’t sure.

One is adamant in being helped by Carnegie, being built and formed and deserving what was done to them. Connor gets what information he can through their bias and leaves them as quick as he could.

It makes his artificial skin crawl. Many of the victims he reaches go quiet, or end his discussion before he can gather much. One naming themselves Henry provides information on Carnegie’s previous employment and a partial list of his “projects-” _victims_.

Disconnecting from his fully interlocked digital setting Connor blinks, sitting himself back up against his chair (from where he had slipped down in disconnecting from his physical form).

“You awake now?” Lieutenant Anderson asks, swinging his arm to pick up the cork from the floor. He pushes it back into his small bottle, which he deposits in his desk drawer.

“Yes, pardon my disconnection.”

“You’re fine Connor. A little long but I managed.”

“I’ve found more information on Carnegie. Specifically the identity of a vast majority of the androids modified by his hand. He holds a list of them, adjusted parts and registration numbers.”

“I didn’t get jack shit out of anyone.” He replies, flipping his phone open and shut.

“Should we wait and continue gathering information?”

“Don’t got much of a choice.” Hank replies, picking up his pen and sticking the end between his teeth. “Fuckin’ garbage but considerin’ we got our asses beat I think we can only do what we can.” His shoulders hunch, and looking away from his partner Hank speaks quietly.

 

“Unova’s not a kid, we’re gonna save ‘em soon but the last fuckin’ thing we need to do is run around and waste time.”

“Your high empathy and sympathy are a great skill.” Connor says, putting a hand hesitantly on Hank’s knee. “How is your back?”

“Hurts like hell, but that’s no ‘xactly new.” He replies. “How about you? Do we need to run to CyberLife?”

“No, the components most heavily damaged, that could have done the most damage ___ helped me replace.”

“You had better not go catching anything for her. She helps everyone and I’ll pop a few in you myself if you go thinking she owes you anything.”

“Nothing to worry about Lieutenant I am still learning what feelings are.” Connor says, again feeling his false heart stutter and that alien sense of defense raise within him. He couldn’t be, could he? What even was love? The bubbling in his chest, the defensiveness, the warmth from your smile and safety in your voice. What was it?

Hank nods, again scratching at his back but making no move to swat away Connor’s hand.

“Heard you got pushed off a roof.”

At that condescending voice Hank does push off Connor’s hand, spinning his chair away from the speaker.

“Fuck off Gavin.”

“Oh don’t worry, I won’t be around too much longer Anderson,” Gavin Reed walking along the side of Hank’s desk spits in return. “Only back here to finish up my own transfer work then I’ll be getting the hell outta dodge. Fuckin’ finished with working near all these plastics.”

“That’s racism.” Connor speaks as flat as he can, not even acknowledging the man himself.

“Hey, what the hell are you even wearing? That ___’s?”

“Gavin fuck off.” Hank says again.

“Didn’t know ___ was back, I oughta say hello.”

“I would suggest you cease interacting with us, and her.” Connor feels his LED spin, heat come from his temple as the blue turns red.

He was angry, furious from his investigating. The way he; Markus, North, Simon, the Tracis, every android he knew _fought_ . Rose up and stood to be acknowledged as beings, just to earn the respect of _existing_. Fought for equal rights every person alive should have. And the way Carnegie twisted that inequality and bigotry into obsession, into sport. The appearance of Reed only fueled him. Humans could be vicious, relentless, monsters. There were people who helped, people like ___ to balance the just and unjust. She was different. She cared and did what she could. Then there was detective Reed being nothing short of a tick, fat with the blue blood of androids he had preyed on and stepped over for his entire life.

It rumbled that part of Connor, the rage and reminder of who he was, what he could do. The fights he won with armed men, trained guards, the other rk800. His abilities. For some reason, the idea of Reed doing anything to jeopardize who you were, lit a fire within him. He couldn’t afford to lose someone so kind, and skilled. He didn’t want to. When had you mattered so much? That he didn’t know. But Connor knew you were important.

“You can’t tell me what to do you-”

 _“Plastic prick_ , try something else once in a while.” Connor cut him off, standing from his chair and showing off the blue soaked towel around his middle, your coat that slumped just slightly from his broader shoulders (compared to yours) and his few precious inches in height on Reed.

“Don’t talk to me.” Gavin spits, turning and taking off away from the desk again.

 

“Nice work Connor, haven’t seen you get that angry at anybody else in a while.” Hank murmurs, kicking the side of his desk.

“He’ll be back.” He says, dropping into his chair.

“Who’ll be back?” ___’s voice enters their ears, as she walks up from the side of desk. She drops her keys and a small box on her desk, holding a drink carrier in her other hand. She comes over, Connor watching her walk and the way her cheeks seem just slightly pink.

“Gavin.” Hank says, extending a hand as ___ gets closer, the woman herself picking a drink from the carrier and sliding it into Hank’s grip.

“Didn’t get you anything, Audine said they don’t eat so I’d rather be safe than sorry in case it messes with your systeming.” She gives him a smile, one Connor gladly accepts anyway. “I did get you-” She reaches down, setting down her drink carrier and untying fabric from around her waist to reveal a large sweatshirt. She holds it up, small image of the famous Chicago Anish Kapoor sculpture in the middle. “A sweater!

“I know it’s not the most official, but I grabbed the biggest one I had in hopes it would fit?”

It only registers as a little bit of a fib, and Connor reads the text on the hoodie around the image of the art.

“This bean is gay and there’s nothing you can do about it?” He breaks into his own bright smile, Hank laughing pretty hard himself.

“Glad I was right.” Hank says, you grinning widely.

“Hank recommended this to me when I visited Chicago. It suits me.”

Connor stands up, chuckling softly as ___ holds the sweatshirt on one arm. He takes off her jacket, briefly doing a check on his leakage and adjusting the towel. Connor exchanges the jacket for the softer hoodie, sliding it on and smiling as it fits him almost perfectly.

___ holds her jacket in one arm, before shrugging it on and rubbing her arms. “There we go, it should hold you ‘til you get back to Hank’s. You two didn’t manage to get home last night right? Maybe you should call it a night early.”

“Only-” Hank glances at the holopad on his table “-noon.”

“Fuck, you’re kidding.”

“‘Fraid not.” Hank says, sipping his coffee.

“I’m already tired as hell.” ___ whines, gently smiling.

“You’re one to talk detective,” Connor says, adjusting the hood of the sweatshirt and idly moving his hands.

“Eh, you’re right.” ___ replies, dropping her head to the side.

“Damn ___, you are back and you didn’t tell me?” Gavin’s voice makes both Hank and Connor watch as he approaches.

The woman herself sighs, again rubbing her arms. A brief analysis of her body does reveal that her core temperature had decreased, heart rate increased. She was not wearing her jacket and it was beginning to enter the cold season. Connor makes a brief mental note before Gavin approached the desk.

“Gavin, could you please leave me alone?”

“Come on, that’s no way to talk to me.”

“You’re not my partner anymore, I don’t owe you anything.”

“Damn, guess getting out of here just made you a bitch.”

“Sure, call me what you want asshole.”

 

Hank makes a small fist pump gesture, drinking his coffee. Connor stands up as Gavin takes a step slightly too close to ___, the woman putting a hand out against Connor’s chest.

 _Connor, don’t._ Her eyes scream.

 _For now._ Connor’s reply.

“You fuckin’ share clothes with androids now?”

“None of my life is your business Gavin, go away.” ___’s hand doesn’t move from Connor’s chest, instead balling up the design in her grip.

“Gavin, please leave us alone. I‘ve asked, as has ___.” Connor says.

“I don’t have to fucking listen to you, like you can tell me what to do.” Gavin sneers, reaching out to grab ___’s forearm. His hand grabs her suddenly, the woman’s face flashes wide and pale with fear. Connor’s programming immediately begins running through steps, situations, maneuvers, how to diffuse the situation how to calm down both parties- his systems overload in the two seconds it takes for ____ to react. Without any kind of hesitation she retches her arm back socks Gavin in the nose.

Sure enough Gavin lets go at that, and ___’s arms go up, stance widened and expression steeled. She makes a small gesture patting her hip, what Connor can only guess is checking for her firearm.

 

“Fuckin’ hell!” Hank and Gavin both yell. Gavin doubles over and holds his face while Hank slams his coffee down and rushes to his feet.

 

Connor opens his mouth, and reaches out to grab ___’s arm in an attempt to calm her, the woman giving him the exact same treatment. He stumbles back, now gripping his nose as well. Gavin is swearing up a storm, hunched and walking away in shame. Hank meanwhile starts talking.

“Alright sunshine, it’s alright. Look at me, look at Hank.” She does, and he continues. “There we go. Just listen to me. You’re okay, I know you’re heated up but can you calm back down for me?”

She nods shallowly, a gesture Connor can barely make out through holding his nose. After a few seconds Hank approaches her, holding up two fingers in a peace sign gesture, before he opens his arms. ___ dives into his arms, balling her hands in the back of Hank’s jacket. She’s not crying, her breathing seems to have calmed down, and she shows no sign of any kind of attack or episode.

 

Some people turn to look at the three of them, Gavin having thankfully fled. A few glance and move on. Audine cautiously approaches, leaning on their broom handle.

Hank continues to rub her back until ___ lets go, taking a cautious step back and gripping her jacket instead.

“Fucker deserved it, but you’ll probably have to take that up with Fowler.” Hank grumbles.

“Technically assaulted a police officer, I’m not back here officially till Monday.” She smiles weakly, fiddling with her hair. “Thanks Hank.” She says, taking a few more deep breaths. “Oh my god! Connor!” She suddenly remembers, looking over at her companion and face creasing with regret.

Connor shakes his head gently, letting go of his nose as blue blood dribbles onto his upper lip.

“Quite frankly, I think I deserved it.”

“I think he did too.” Audine says.

___ laughs nervously, approaching Connor slowly. She bites her lips, a gesture Connor can’t quite identify as embarrassment or shameful interest.

“I think we all need to just take the day off, huh.” She finishes, watching Connor tilt his head this way and that. “I’m so sorry I punched you, I didn’t break it did I?”

“The casing was damaged, but there was no real damage. Only cosmetic.”

“Hey, that means you actually punched two police officers.” Audine offers slyly, grinning.

“Oh stuff it you-”

“Yeah why’d you hit the pretty one?” Hank repeats with his own smug grin.

“Pretty one?” Connor says, confused.

 

“Just- just shut up! I’m calling it a day.” She grumbles. After a few seconds ___ smiles softly at Connor, making his chest thrum again before rubbing her eyes. “Yeah, I’m definitely going home. You two should too, god, Connor you’re still running on fumes.”

“That why you got up in arms with Gavin?” Hank asks, walking around to his partner and clasping his shoulder.

“My integrity is most likely a cause of my programming changing.” He says.

“Well I’m always lookin’ for a way to cut outta this shithole, I’ll drop you off at CyberLife so they can fill your bullet holes.” Hank reaches into his desk, grabbing a set of patrol car keys and spinning them on his finger. “Sunshine, call me if anything else goes down today, alright?” His voice is soft Connor recognizes, more lyrical and kind as he walks away.

“Fat fucking chance _dad_.” ___ replies, already smiling again and bringing back light into the station. Connor waves as he follows the Lieutenant out of the station, a small gesture ___ reciprocates before she talks with Audine.

* * *

 

The cold air sinks into Connor’s skin, the temperature is expected to decline as summer fades fully, bringing the chill of autumn. Hank is still spinning his keys, walking around to the drivers side of the empty patrol car and sitting down hard. Connor does another bodily scan as he sits in the passenger seat, vertebrae in order with no extraneous damage.

“Let’s get you fixed up, this backup car put back, and a nice stovetop meal in my stomach.”

Connor doesn’t reply, and as Hank pulls out the silence becomes suffocating.

“How are you doin’ kid? Almost forgot about your injuries as shitty as that sounds.” Lieutenant Anderson’s hands grip the wheel tight, white knuckles as he turns onto the larger street.

“My survival rate is far above passing, no need to worry Lieutenant.” He looks out the window, catching his own reflection in the rear view mirror as his LED blinks from blue to a shaky yellow and bounces back and forth.

Hank grunts in response, not exactly focused on the road but not immersed in conversation either. Connor meanwhile fidgets with his fingers, pulling at the sweatshirt ties and rubbing the pocket seams. He manages to go a few minutes before Hank grumbles again, reaching a hand over and withdrawing a quarter from the cupholder and tossing it to Connor. He catches it, sighing happily as he twirls it between his fingers with practiced rhythm and skill.

“Muscle memory and calibration my ass.” Hank says, and Connor can hear the smile in his voice, making his own appear. “Make sure they don’t do anything shitty. I’ll be at the house, call me when you’re done an’ I’ll get you.”

“Will do. Uhm, Hank?”

Hank grunts again.

“If we could talk at some point I’d greatly appreciate it. I would really like to hear your advice.”

“We don’t have to drop you off yet. What’s up?” Hank flips his turn signal, merging into a lane to lead around the Cyberlife tower.

“I uh. I’m not sure how to handle emotions. My  processing power is equipped for numbers and theories and hypotheticals. But-” Connor’s voice dies.

“Hey kid.” Hank is paying attention to the road, and Connor watches him. “You’re learnin’. Everyone alive is. Tell me about it.”

Connor returns to watching his coin dip and tumble through his fingers as he speaks. “I’ve been alive for a while now, I’ve fought and learned and loved, but maybe not the kind of love I’m- I’m afraid? Confused?”

Hank nods, still paying attention to the road. Somehow his not speaking is understanding, comforting.

“It is unlike both the me I was constructed to be, and the me I have constructed, to be so unsure. I have more to focus on than any single mission. I feel the need to protect, to love, to help and it’s overwhelming. I love you, I love Sumo, I love Cole in the way I can, I-” His voice catches and his chest thrums with a loud whir.

“The way you interact with detective ___ makes me want to care for her as well. I haven’t known her for long, but I can see what she means to you, to the department. Is it normal to just, feel so much so fast?”

“Sometimes, ___’s like that herself. You may be a bit more empathetic than you believe Con.”

Raindrops start falling onto the windshield, gentle droplets in a chill wind. Connor wipes his nose onto his hand.

“Bleeding heart so to speak. A good strong heart ‘n shit like that.” Hank finishes.

“What do I do?” Connor catches the coin, depositing it into his sweatshirt pocket and looking at the floor.

“Let it be. Don’t try and hide it, let yourself feel. But if you start gettin’ buddy buddy with Gavin I’ll punch you.”

Connor laughs, shoulders jerking just slightly as the motion rattles his broken biocomponents. He thinks of ___, her smile, the way she truly brings the sunshine. Her warm hands, understanding eyes and the care she radiates. The safety and worry, support and steadfast action. The defense he felt in his chest, the smile that made his Thirium flush, your equality and support of androids as people. She’s…

“Amazing.” Connor whispers, Hank nodding sagely.

“You good to go get fixed up?”

“I-I think so.” He replies, checking a brief diagnosis on his status and glancing back at the window. He thinks he sees red for just a moment, before the yellow and blue fight leads to it’s calm blue. It stays.

“Alright. Remember, I’ll be at the house.”

“Will do.”

Hank pulls around to the front of the tower, setting the car to park while Connor  unbuckles and exits the car. He waves as he closes the door, walking to the two guards outside the tower as rain starts and removing his artificial skin. Time to get fixed up.

* * *

 

You watch Connor and Hank leave, and turn to Audine.

“Interesting.” They say, raising eyebrows and smiling.

“Oh shut up.”

“You doin’ alright?” Audine says, you can practically see them cataloging the note to pester you more later.

“Yeah, sorry I snapped.”

“It’s alright. If you get into trouble Anderson ’ll go to court for you. And Gavin is taking your old position off on the east coast so he won’t be here much longer anyway.” They start pushing their cart away from where they were, returning to their work. “I know where you live now so you don’t have to wait for me, if the offer of a roof still stands.”

“Depends if you keep teasing me.” You reply, pointing as Audine smiles and shrugs.

Picking up your forgotten drink you take a sip, lukewarm tea bringing a thankful warmth and ease to your throat. You think about what exactly you should do, grabbing a few holopads from your desk. The ones you can complete at home you slide into your jacket pockets, and taking one final look at Hank’s desk clock you call it a day.

You’re walking home when it starts raining. Connor’s voice echoes in your head as small raindrops land in your hair.

_“I do not feel anything detective.”_

You stop at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. It echoes again and again. Connor’s good looking, he was designed for it and it’s not like you could blame him. He’s famous, he’s strong and capable and- an android. He makes your chest flutter and cheeks warm when he makes you laugh, makes you feel safe and like a wholly real person. He shows interest in you, although not in the ways the selfish part of you wants.

And wouldn’t it just be selfish? To take advantage of somebody who has just come to terms with the idea of living? To force something on him he might not understand? Something he may never understand?

 

The rain falls harder and faster now, and the light remains unchanged. Cars speed by, clouds covering the early afternoon sky like a blanket.

He makes you smile, and you make him. You remember your mortifying comment about him being beat up, him blushing and not immediately ratting you out. If you really want to help him you should just- repress this thing you feel bubbling up in your stomach. The butterflies in your lungs when he speaks and the look in his eyes. The eyes that you saw filled with emotion, the need to help and protect that you weren’t expecting.

You’re just confused. Could he? Couldn’t he?

 

A car horn honks, making you jump and look up, seeing you have the right of way to cross. Keeping one hand on your jacket lapels you run across, feeling the cool air in your lungs and the raindrops land on your clothes and exposed skin. You’re here. You’re present. You run the rest of the way home, unlocking your front door and stepping inside with a sigh.

Connor fidgets just like you do. Connor backtalks Hank just like you do. Connor cares. Connor likes dogs like you do. Connor respects you. Connor treats you with respect and still like a treasure.

You’re starting to fall for the android, the deviant hunter gone deviant, the one who freed the cyberlife tower, the negotiator.

You lock your door, taking off your wet jacket and shivering. You’re starting to crush on Connor. You kick off your shoes, start unbuttoning your shirt. Up the stairs into your bathroom you walk into your shower, the water burns just slightly.

Warm dry clothes and a bowl of microwaved soup later, you sit at your kitchen counter. The holopads survived the rain just fine, you get two more done and manage to fix your phone’s timezone. You move to unpacking after a while, but your mind still thinks of Connor.

 

Maybe you’re just blowing this out of proportions anyway. Soft music sings through your apartment as you go through boxes and think. Deviancy brought human emotions, did that bring things like romance? Connor seemed to be as human as anyone else. You remember hearing about Markus the rebellion leader who fell in love with one of his companions, and of two Traci androids who escaped the Eden club.

But they were all androids.

You could just- forget this silly little crush ever existed. You need to.

You still think of him with his broken nose, him leaning over Unova and shielding them with his body. You imagine how strong Connor must be, imagine being carried around by him. It’s embarrassing but it makes you walk a little lighter.

 

Your phone rings, stopping your music as you get a call. Grabbing it and checking the caller ID the same ugly picture of you and Hank has filled the screen. You smile, and pick up.

“Hank, it you this time?”

“Yeah, it’s me kid. Wanted to talk to you.”

“What’s up?” You hold your phone between your ear and shoulder while you work on another box.

“I uh, I was wondering if you’d be willing to stop by my place.”

You don’t reply immediately, your face scrunching in confusion before he continues.

“Listen, I’m goin’ straight to bed when I get back to be perfectly fuckin’ honest. I’d- I’ve got you on speaker while I drive but-” His voice betrays him, he can’t seem to say exactly what he means or wants. You shuffle quickly through your office box, unfurling the calendar and looking at today’s date. September twentieth.

 

“I’ve done a lot of work around my house, I’ll catch a bus and head over. Sumo could probably use some company.” You say, glad he can’t see your expression. Cole’s birthday is coming up, and not a month after would be his anniversary.

Hank swallows hard, you can hear it through the line and taps his hand on the steering wheel.

“Thanks.”

“Not a problem.”

You hang up, dropping the calendar back into the office box and starting to plan.

* * *

 

The bus ride to near Hank’s house is uneventful, rain continues to pour and trickle down the window as you watch the world pass by.

Your umbrella shields you from the rain as you walk up to the small building, knocking on the door before turning the knob and entering.

You hear a low thump as you kick off your shoes and close your umbrella, to find Sumo having padded over to the door at your entrance. He taps his paws on the hardwood floor until you squat down to pet him.

“Hey Sumo, how ya doing? You still bein’ a good boy?”

Standing up Sumo guides you to the messy mainroom before he returns to his perch on the couch.

“I take it dad’s gone to bed already? Not surprised considering he’s old as balls.” You start narrating as you pet Sumo and work on picking up. The house isn’t in bad shape, just lived in. You turn on the tv and after a few minutes cuddle up on the couch with Sumo. Soap opera reruns take up most of the channels, and the news has never really been your bag. You let a sitcom play and listen to the gentle drum of rain. Somehow or another you end up nestled up with Sumo, the two of you falling asleep to the lulling noises and calm.

A nap never hurt anybody.

 

You’re awoken by two voices, one you vaguely recognize as Hank. The front door shuts and you shift on the couch. Sumo makes a _mrrmhpn_ noise, jumping down away from your pile and making you pout.

“See? She’s got it.” Hank says. He keeps talking, voice growing quiet as the house creaks meaning he went to the back.

You stay in your blanket, letting the tv and rain calm you back into sleep. You’re close when a figure pats the couch close to you, and Sumo again makes a grumble.

 

Rubbing your eye you decide now’s a good time to wake up and yawn. “Hank? Thought you went back to bed.”

“He did, sorry for waking you.” Connor says, “I thought Sumo might want to get back up but he’s decided against it.”

“He likes you, wants you to sit up here.” You speak through a yawn, sitting up and shoving off your blanket. “What time is it?”

“Close to seven.” He replies, “May I?” You nod, Connor sitting on the couch next to you.

“Wow, been asleep for a bit. Oh, how are you doing?” You shrug off the remnants of sleep, taking a good look at your companion. He’s back in all his android glory, hair combed back (aside from a few stray curls), Rk800 jacket crisp and clean, white dress shirt pristine.

“My survival percentage was-” his voice catches for just a moment before he looks at you. “It wasn’t bad. You helped with the worst parts and the rest was easy to fix.”

A few raindrops roll from his shoulder, the motion catching your eye.

“I’m glad, I was worried.”

“Really?”

“Well duh, you think Hank wasn’t worried too? Because he totally was.”

Connor smiles gently, looking down. “Oh.”

 

“Did- did they give you a different jacket? I thought you had the-”

“Cyberlife gave me one without the identifying markers.” He says, extending his right arm. “My number is still present, but no band or triangle. It was a pleasant surprise.”

“It’s nice. What are the specs on that thing anyway?”

“Are you asking for the processing power of my jacket?” He smiles, looking over at you and chuckling. You grin in return, nodding.

“Hell yeah, tell me about it.”

“Waterproof and resistant, lightweight with a slight shell form. Dense and made especially for me.”

“Oh sick!”

“It’s been very useful, I found myself caught in the rain a fair number of times up until recently.”

You scoot a little closer to him, and tap the fabric with a finger. “Oh, that’s why it just- Whack.” You murmur. “Wish my jacket was like that, it’d save my ass from getting drenched.”

“The jacket I wore earlier?”

“Uh, yeah.” Your heart thrums a little bit. “Got it when I graduated the academy and made it onto the force. Figured since I’d be a detective I’d need a cool jacket.”

“It is a nice jacket.” Connor replies, turning to look at the tv. “What are you watching?”

“Some soap opera, you can change it if you’d like. It made good noise, easy to fall asleep to. Sumo helped with sleep too.”

Connor chuckles again and you adjust yourself to sit comfortably next to him. You’re not really watching the melodramatic antics on the screen, but when you look up Connor seems to be rather engrossed.

 

“You like stuff like this?”

“I do not know my preferences for things like this, it seems… peculiar to say the least.”

That gets a laugh out of you, “What’s weird?”

“The love triangle aspect?” He gestures vaguely at the screen, a woman appearing on screen while two images of other women appear. The first women laments with a bit too much flourish.

“Yeah, I don’t really get that kinda stuff either. I think she should just take a step back and think.”

“How does she know?”

“Know what?” You look back up at Connor, who has his head tilted just slightly as he watches the actress.

“Which one she loves.”

You feel your heart go cold and you look back at the tv. “I guess you have a point. It’s not easy to know. But if you ask me, the way you feel when you truly love somebody is something you can’t fake.”

Connor doesn’t reply, and when the screen goes dark for a transition you catch his reflection on the glass, his temple a gentle yellow.

“When you’re in love, from what I can tell it’s like you’re not alone anymore. Not like you found a part of you, or you’re complete, but you found someone who matches you. A set, not two halves.” You feel yourself starting to slump down, grabbing your blanket again and nestling down next to him. Connor nods, watching the show.

You feel your heartbeat loud and sturdy in your chest, hoping your embarrassment isn’t obvious. You sink further again in to the couch, feeling your eyes close. As much as you thought you’d move on, Connor is a nice sturdy presence, and he makes you feel safe enough to fall back asleep.

* * *

 

You’re awoken by your alarm, loud buzzing pulling you out of your trance. You sit up, cracking your back and running a hand through your now messy hair. You slide the alarm off, standing up from the sofa and sniffing the air. A delicious smell is floating through the air, a smell you recognize as your favorite breakfast food. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes you walk into the kitchen, knocking on the doorframe as you enter. You take a seat at the round table, seeing Connor standing at the stove, busy cooking.

“Good morning ___,” He says, glancing over his shoulder at you.

“Mornin’. What’re you doin’?”

“Cooking, or at least I believe that’s what I’m doing.” He says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah smartass. Why?”

“I could only assume you’d be hungry, when you fell asleep I checked up on your health state. You hadn’t eaten in a while, and your body temperature had decreased five degrees from the normal.”

“Oh.” You chew your lip, feeling your chest flutter. He cared. “That’s pretty weird.” You say instead, making him laugh.

“Pardon my concern,” He says as he finishes up, plating your meal and bringing it over to the table. It makes your mouth water, and as soon as you get your utensil in your hand you’re chowing down.

“God-” You say between mouthfuls- “Connor this is great! This is my favorite meal and everything.”

Connor smiles, nodding gently. “I believed you’d appreciate it.”

You nod, stuffing your face. “We have some time until Hank gets up, do you want anything?”

“I don’t eat.”

“Yeah, I know. I mean, you cooked for me so I could treat you to something. Still early.”

“I’m quite alright. I’ll keep that in mind though.”

“So if you don’t eat, that mean you don’t sleep too?”

“No, I do not sleep in the way you do. I can shut down, but I can not awake on my own from a hard set.”

“So you can shut down in a software method, like a sleep mode. But if you shut down in a hardware way-”

“I’d need another being to turn me back on.” He says, sitting at the table opposite you. Sumo pads over, sitting next to him and setting his head on Connor’s lap.

“Sounds dumb.”

“Yeah, I can’t help but agree. Some androids apparently can fight the systeming, my friend Markus rebooted from destruction and rebuilt himself.”

“Oh yeah, Markus the guy who led the uprising!”

Connor nods, and you continue eating.

“I haven’t seen him in a while but on my next day off I plan to visit him at Jericho’s new headquarters. It isn’t a protest spot but a head for android full and complete rights. He and Simon assist on some cases.”

The two of you talk more idly, you clear your plate and wash the dish. Connor talks nicely with you, he makes you laugh and you make him. He answers all your questions, and you explain some things he doesn’t quite understand. You don’t feel your nervous crush rear its head but you feel nice. Talking with him makes you feel good, and he has started to really chip away at his professional exterior.

“What’s your favorite flower?” You ask, putting the clean dish back in the cabinet.

“Uh, I’m not quite-” He taps his lips and speaks. “I find Forget Me Nots to be pretty.”

“You googled flowers halfway through your sentence!”

“And if I did?” He says cheekily, making you grin.

You instead blow a raspberry at him, checking your phone. Time passed fairly quickly, your phone reading close to seven when Hank appears in the kitchen doorway, leaning on the frame with his arms crossed.

 

“You bothering my kid?” He says, both you and Connor responding at once.

“Am not!” You both look at each other, before all three of you burst into laughter.

“C’mere sunshine,” Hank says, extending his arms. You wipe your eyes, walking over and giving him a hug.

“Morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Eh.” He scratches his beard, shuffling to the fridge. You return to sitting next to Connor. Sumo notices his favorite human enter, he abandons Connor to follow Hank in meandering through the kitchen in his robe and pjs. Connor watches, actually pouting a little and making you smile.

“You guys gotta head in today?”

“Got people to save, ___. Wrongs to right.” Hank says, upper half leaning into the fridge.

“In the process of a case and we should be able to find more information and maybe meet with other androids to help us find Carnegie.” Connor adds.

You nod, “I don’t go back until tomorrow but I still have some pads to finish up. I’ll stop by later and check on you guys then.”

“You our babysitter?”

“Hey, if you two keep getting shot at and pushed off roofs then I might as well be.”

 

Hank microwaves some breakfast, and when you’re content he won’t be alone you take your leave. The rain stopped sometime last night, the streets mildly chilled but only residuals of the rain present. You catch a bus back to the stop near your apartment and walk inside. Audine stayed the night again, apparent by their note on the table and thanks for you not locking your door.

You decide to skip on a shower for today, instead scrounging up a clean outfit and finishing the last of the transfer information on your holopads. Time ticks by, you find a quick lunch when needed and down more tea to try and get rid of the scratch in your throat that had been persistent since yesterday morning. Maybe that’s why you fell asleep so easily yesterday? Were you getting sick? You didn’t feel sick. You make a mental not to maybe take some DayQuil later to be safe.

Finding a dry jacket you again take to the streets of Detroit, walking into the DPD and smiling. A few familiar faces greet you, you stop for a brief conversation with an old friend before returning to your desk. Connor is seated at Hank’s desk, and he gives you a wave when he sees you. It’s really cute. You wave back.

The only forms remaining are the more intricate old case files you had completed, and swiping up on one pad you try to remember how exactly to do it. “Edit directly in the window.” You murmur, working slowly through the windows and popups. It takes you awhile but you do manage to figure it out. Work slinks by, you know for now your work is boring because you’re not live. You can’t be assigned any new cases. When you finish your collection of pads and you’re able to see all of your information on the server, ordered and routed properly, you feel proud. You actually look over to Hank and Connor, finding the two of them talking about something rather intently. As if he feels your eyes however, Connor turns to look at you.

You feel yourself blush, and smile awkwardly. You give a thumbs up and look down at your desk.

You were doing so good! _Fuck!_

* * *

Connor feels his artificial heart throb when you blush, and Hank slaps his arm gently to get his attention. “C’mon kid. Run all those big numbers through that metal brain of yours. What’s our best shot today?”

“If we can come into contact with Henry on the subject of meeting up, most likely offering asylum or protection I believe they would be our best lead. If we can’t reach them, then Carengie’s previous place of work.”

“Alright, where’d he work?”

“He was employed at a branch of CyberLife, the division referred to as the ‘Quantic REM.’ Primarily in charge of designing androids and testing them. He had no responsibility in coding or programming but only the aesthetic appeal. Particularly certain subsets of androids.”

“Address?”

Connor spits out the address, deep in the heart of the city.

“Alright, you try and reach Henry. I’m gonna check on my car.” He withdraws his phone, opening it to call his autoshop.

Connor nods, integrating himself into the DPD server and tracing back his interactions prior. He reaches out to Henry, receiving an answer again routed through multiple VPNs.

 

_Rk800: Hello Henry, it’s me again. Connor with the DPD._

_Mt450: Connor._

_Mt450: I’m afraid I cannot speak with you._

_Rk800: What seems to be the problem?_

_Mt450: I believe I’m being targeted._

_Mt450: If you wish to speak with me you must do it in person._

_Mt450: I’ll be at Jericho for now, seeking safety and protection._

_Rk800: I can meet you there, your testimony would be vital._

 

And without a second thought Henry’s line disappeared, messages disappearing into meaningless code as if Henry had set them to disintegrate. “I have their location Lieutenant.”

“Great, let’s get going.” Hank says, “Where to?”

“Jericho.”

“I better not be dropping you off for a playdate.”

* * *

 

Hank parks the borrowed patrol car, he and Connor emerging onto the street to Jericho’s new building. Androids and humans alike filter past on the sidewalk, a few entering or leaving the building itself. Standing tall as a converted CyberLife store, Markus’ symbols of change decorate each window and screen display visible.

Connor leads Hank to the door, holding it for his partner as they enter. The floor is bustling, part of the large main room dedicated to the care and upkeep of androids. Androids mingle and interact, a few Jericho elder members offering aide in whatever way they can. Connor sees a display labelling what services the men and women offer here. A small stairwell leads up to the more office-like areas where an android can seek guidance, legal assistance, or financial aid. Connor again leads up the stairs, finding Markus and Simon speaking rather close to the entrance.

“Markus!” Connor calls, waving.

Markus turns, eyebrows raised. “Ah, Connor. Welcome to the new Jericho.” He smiles gently, extending a hand for Connor to shake. Connor does, both of their artificial skins disappearing for the small gesture. “I take it you aren’t here to visit?”

“We’re looking for someone, the personalized model Mt450 Henry.”

Simon nods, tapping his chin. “I talked to her earlier, she was uh,” Simon turns, pointing away from the stairwell, deeper in the building and within a cluster of figures. “She was talking with Josh, right.”

“Connor,” Markus says, stopping the detective for a moment, “Is something the matter? I’d rather you tell me and not risk those under our care.”

“We’re investigating a human male, approximately fifty years old. Under suspicion of multiple android related crimes including homicide, kidnapping, and torture. Henry has information on finding the subject.”

Markus listens intently, nodding slightly as Connor finishes. “Alright. Go on ahead.”

Hank gives a curt nod to both Markus and Simon as he passes by, smiling. The two men return the gesture.

 

Weaving between the tiny cubicle areas and small groups, Hank and Connor search. Henry is nestled on a windowsill, looking inside the building when Connor and Hank approach. Connor leads, “Hello, I’m Connor.”

“Henry.” She replies, looking up. Henry is a customized model Mt450, a female android donned in large beige fabrics reminiscent of a parka and chinos. Short brown hair cropped tight to her face, and from what Connor can observe multiple misplaced or forcibly attached parts of alien origin. Her face has a large gash leading between her eyes, a line Connor notices as an old injury which was never properly replaced or fixed.

Connor observes for a moment, system working to filter out the background noise of people talking, computers clicking, and the small heater. Henry in the meantime stands up, brushing her coat front clean. “You wish to learn of Carnegie?”

“That would greatly benefit our investigation.”

“David Carnegie of Quantic REM is a vile, disgusting, and repulsive being.” She spits. “If you’ve gathered information about him prior to my testimony, and it is from an android, it is fact. He is a monster.”

“We’re looking for a way to locate him, press charges that will stick.” Hank interjects gently, doing his best to calm Henry.

The android upon noticing him does calm, returning to her seat on the windowsill. “Yes, I have heard he has destroyed three of my companions. And has Unova. I was modified in a small branch subculture of Quantic REM, I can give you the location. I also collected information from Trent, Amelia and Unova.”

“Do you have any information on the Gracie?”

“Never met her. Listen, what I do have is more than enough for Carnegie to come after me. If you collect the dirt from a few of his old studios, with the validation of androids as living beings with rights, you can win. Give me your arm Connor.” She says, rolling up her coat sleeve. Connor does so as well, placing his hand on her forearm as she grabs his. Information comes spilling into his databases, three locations marked locally.

“Now leave me.”

 

“If you think you’re being targeted, why don’t you come to the station? Have us protect you.” Hank says, hands stuffed in his pockets.

Henry doesn’t respond immediately, unrolling her sleeve and letting the sounds of the office space fill the silence.

“Carnegie is looking for me, correct. If I were to appear in any kind of unusual situation such as visiting a police station and say, not leaving, he would find a mole. He would wait for my release or court date. My best chance is to remain at Jericho for now, and then disappear from the grid.”

“Offline we’ll have no way to reach you, or help you.” Connor says. “A testimony of any degree would make this much easier, and quicker.”

“All you could do for me in that situation is expedite the inevitable. You’ll have to find your own proof.” Henry pulls her knees to her chest, looking out the second story window. “Now go.”

 

“Guess we can’t really do much.” Hank murmurs, “Do be careful out there Henry.”

She nods in reply, staying still in the window.

Connor does another scan of Henry, before giving his own nod and departing. Markus gently takes his elbow as he passes.

“And?”

“We got what she could give us. Thanks for letting us see her. Keep an eye out, will you?” Hank speaks, extending a hand for Markus to shake.

Markus blinks, before releasing Connor and shaking Hank’s hand. “Will do Lieutenant.”

“Alright Con, let’s go.” Hank starts down the stairs without another pause, leaving Connor confused. Markus and Simon watch him go, before turning to each other and shrugging, taking each others hands.

“You two stay safe out there as well, dangerous line of work.” Markus smiles.

“Will do. See you two later.” Connor waving goodbye to Markus and Simon as he follows Hank down the stairs and back to the police car. Hank himself is walking absurdly quick compared to his normal pace, his heartbeat is elevated and once he drops into the driver's seat of the patrol car he withdraws a familiar item from the interior breast pocket of his coat.

It’s the small pickaxe keychain, he twirls it between his fingers briefly before turning the keys in the ignition.

 

“Lieutenant? Is something the matter?”

“ _Hank-_ ” he corrects, “And no, I’ll be fine. What’s the closest location? Let’s try and get as much as we can before Carnegie catches wind.”

“The closest is-” Connor projects a screen, map route to the nearest location. “But the two further are close together, if we move fast enough we can collect from both locations where if we-”

“Alright, then give me directions to the two closer to each other.”

Connor’s projection updates, and Hank takes off.

* * *

 

The first location Henry gave turns out to be a rather above ground CyberLife facility, although looking inside any passerby could notice the sterile official CyberLife had long since vanished. A few humans appear to be roaming the inside, walls and workshop tables are littered with displays showing androids, parts, and videos. After conducting a brief investigation the two had retreated down the street to plan.

“Alright, how to do this legally.” Hank says, running a hand through his hair. “We don’t have a warrant, or really probable cause since we don’t know if Carnegie is even here.”

“Espionage is our best bet, resulting to violence if necessary.”

“Son last thing I want is to draw my gun and kill somebody that didn’t do anything wrong.”

“If they’re in allegiance with Carnegie, who’s to say they’re innocent.”

“Fuckin’- _Christ._ Alright. Espionage. How?”

Connor starts running though possible scenarios, coming to the best conclusion.

“You fought me, heard about a place where you could scrap me or sell me.” Connor says, looking up at Hank.

Hank himself raises his shoulders, face scrunching in disgust.

“I’m not the biggest fan either, but if we can get in I’m a unique model. I could distract most of them to give you time to search.”

“If we’re doing this I’m not shutting you down.” Hank says, pulling his hair back in a small ponytail.

“I’d prefer it like that.” Connor replies, pulling at his shirt to make it more rumpled, loosening his ties and rustling his hair. “I’ll enter software shutdown. Find what you can.” With a few quick system navigations Connor feels his systems go offline, head droop down and eyes close. His consciousness stays, he feels Hank heft him up like a sack of potatoes and listens closely. Hank approaches the side of the building, doing a very good job of being suspicious, knocking on a small door next to a much larger loading dock. Between two buildings Hank shuffles back and forth, knocking again and again until the door opens, with a small chain lock.

“What do you want?”

“I heard-” Hank coughs, and takes a deep breath through his nose (imitating a red ice user) “I heard I could scrap a droid here for some cash.”

The figure within the door doesn’t move immediately, Connor hears him shuffle just slightly before he speaks.

“What’ve you got?”

“That- That android- the detective one. Cops left him alone, I got the drop on ‘im-”

“The Negotiator? Fuck off.”

“It’s him! The deviant hunter!” Connor feels Hank spin around to show off Connor’s front. “Just- Let me in before-”

Connor hears the door slam shut, before it opens again.

“Let’s see then.” Hank rushes into the dock, and Connor can hear clearly the videos playing and people talking although they quickly go quiet.

 

“The- the wiring is more my thing, I wiped his memory so if you want me to turn him on I can.” Hank lies (honestly rather well all things considered) and sets him down rather harshly on a table.

Connor immediately recognizes three voices, one female and two male. The female voice and deeper male voice talk about him, the higher male voice talks with Hank.

“What are you looking for for it?”

“Listen man, whatever I can get.”

“How about two hundred.”

“Two hundred?! This is a one of a kind! I meant reasonable!”

“I’m being reasonable, it will be hard to take it down to parts inconspicuous enough to flog.”

“Listen, can’t we take this somewhere and talk about it?”

Hank’s conversation is drowned out as the deeper voice starts talking about Connor’s qualities. He can’t feel anything but from what he can tell the man is examining his left arm.

 

“Excellent condition, joints perfect, Clothing intact. Skin complete, it’s perfect.”

The woman’s voice speaks next.

“Legs in excellent shape as well, should we try and turn it on?”

A hand taps his LED, and Connor feels it blink, his ‘feeling’ creeping back into his limbs. His left arm is in a large hand, right leg being gripped by the ankle. The feeling of warmth from the contact unnerves him, his eyes open and (desperately, carefully) remain pinned to the ceiling.

“Self identification.” The woman says.

“Connor Rk800 model number 313-248-317-51.” Carefully withholding his tie to the DPD and assignment as a partner to Hank Anderson.

“Holy shit, it is him,” The male voice says, hand tightening on Connor’s arm. He can’t feel it, and that should be a grace, but instead it scares him. He has no control and he doesn’t feel pain (although he’s not sure that would stop these people anyway) any number of things could happen.

“Rk800, what is your purpose?”

“Current objective has not been assigned. Awaiting instruction.”

“That guy wasn’t lying either, it’s brand new and wiped.”

“Should we scrap it then? Imagine how much it’d go for!”

“Let’s see when-”

 

Hank’s voice is a blessing, his bitter arguing with the first male voice returning.

“Rk800, sit up.”

Connor follows the order a bit too eagerly, keeping his expression neutral but more than ready to see his friend again. Hank makes eye contact, looking quickly left and right to signify not yet.

The two figures around him are speaking to the third, raving about him like an animal in a butchers shop. The doorman approaches, and taking his chance Hank disappears into the small office space closest to him.

“Rk800, identify new owners.”

Connor blinks his LED, looking at the woman.

“Athen.” She says. Connor’s tongue is heavy in his mouth as he replies.

“Athen.”

“Minno.” The deeper voice speaks now, Connor rotates his head to face him.

“Minno.”

“Rex.” The doorman says.

“Rex.”

Athen smiles, she adjusts her headband and glasses. “Boss, this is amazing!” Minno seconds her notion, and Connor has to fight every urge in his body to not just fight, to kick up from the table and run. His expression stays completely neutral of course, listening intently to his “owners”. As if he would have owners now. He feels his artificial heart beat hard and fast in his ears, he feels his body itch and muscles pull taut. Thankfully none of the three notice.

Athen and Minno the two lackeys appear to be raving, the doorman and leader still unsure. “Rk800, open your front compartment.” He speaks. Connor moves as slow as he can to unbutton his shirt, exposing his bare chest. And after a few seconds, the line down Connor’s middle appears, his chest opening to reveal his intricate wiring and false heart, everything thrumming steadily.

Minno whistles, and moves to start poking around inside of his chest cavity.

Connor feels his programming screaming in agony, bright red in his vision littered with warnings, analyses of the environment, what situations could occur and he fights every protocol. Give Hank time to find the information, stall, pretend, be a good machine- nothing feels right or safe and all he can do is scream in his head.

 

_Just a few more seconds, just a few more seconds, just a few more-_

 

Connor feels Minno’s hand gently trace the surface of his heart, following lines of servos and arteries, and that’s it, he jerks in response. His face contorts in pain, he can barely breathe and he feels like his whole interior system is going to uproot itself to crawl from his open chest. His vision swims for just a moment, warnings and text boxes disappearing as Connor heaves a breath and curls forward. Minno in response withdraws his hands, the three scrappers all beginning to talk at once when a voice interrupts them.

 

“Connor, let’s go!” Hank yells, emerging from the small office space, already rushing to the collection of people crowded around him.

Connor immediately closes his chest, throwing himself up to his feet on the workshop table. Like lightning, he kicks down Minno and knocks him onto the floor. Rex moves at Hank’s yell, drawing a wrench from the workshop table and turning on him. Athen instead attempts to run prompting Connor to leap from the table, also taking her onto the floor. He rushes to his feet, sprinting across the room towards his partner, mind calculating, cold and emotionless letting him move without thinking, without feeling. He’s wrapping his arms around Rex and taking him down before he can get to Hank as soon as he can. The two land hard, a short bit of wrestling as Connor blocks a wrench swing with his arm, taking the upper hand and holding Rex down.

Rex screams, Hank grabbing Connor’s bicep and tearing him away from the human and running out of the dock door back into the alley.

Both men are heaving breaths, Connor recovering first and quickly the both of them running by the patrol car and depositing what Hank had gathered.

“Second place, quick- It’s within running distance.”

“Connor, Con just c’mere.” Hank hold his arm while the two stand beside the car and motions for Connor to face him. Connor does, and after a moment of hesitation Hank presses his palm to Connor’s exposed chest. “You alright? They do anything?”

“Hank we don’t-”

“Bite me! _Did they hurt you._ ”

“No, they didn’t have the chance to access my interior components.”

“Fuck- thank God.” He breathes, wrapping his arms over Connor’s shoulders to press him against his chest. “Fuck, son, next time we’ll figure somethin’ else out.”

Connor’s fake heartbeat is pounding in his chest, in his ears. His hands are shaking, despite his logic telling him he is fine and safe. His throat tingles, pressure builds up in his head. He was afraid, he was terrified.

“Connor, listen to me. You’re safe now.” Hank’s voice is grounding, Hank’s hands are warm on Connor’s shoulders after the Lieutenant pulled away. “Talk to me. You’re learning.”

“I was afraid Lieutenant.”

“Course you were, some bozos just about chopped you up.”

“It...”

“I got you. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Connor’s hand finds Hank’s wrist, a gentle hold. A hesitant squeeze. Connor believes him.

 

The second location is abandoned when Hank and Connor reach it, an office style building. Connor breaks a back facing window, neither of them sprinting anymore but still holding speed as their top priority.

A small layer of dust rests on the floor and filing cabinets that fill the main room as Connor pulls himself through. A cursory scan and look assure him that the building is indeed abandoned, as strange as it seems. Connor walks over to the door, unlocking it and pushing out for Hank to enter as well.

“Clear?”

“Clear.”

“Let’s find some fuckin’ information.” Hank says, hand on his holster carefully. “I’ll check upstairs.”

“I’ll search the ground floor.” Connor replies, carefully adjusting his vision as the late afternoon sun shines through the large windows, and dust floats through the air. Filing cabinets and bookshelves line the walls, Connor quick to open a drawer and file through. Anything related to Carnegie, Android, or custom is pulled and placed on the floor. A few things in one drawer, nothing, nothing, a few things, a few more, Connor moves as quick as he can to process. One cabinet done. He hears the ceiling above him creak, the sound of Hank carefully investigating. A bookshelf, another filing cabinet, a bookshelf.

A small pile of documents appears,  when he reaches the end Connor takes a moment to properly button his shirt (in his rush over here he more so just buttoned what he could and untied his tie). Clippings and printings lay scattered along the floor, projections and infopads that either hold unsettlingly too much text, or unsettlingly too little. It raises that red banner of anger in him, the lack of coverage on these twisted experiments and the shrouds of ‘property’ claims that made this and other instances completely legal.

But he doesn’t hold onto that anger.

 

His mind wanders. To the scrappers, from fear and anger eventually back to talking with ___ in the breakroom. Fixing his body, removing bullets and listening to her talk. Her voice is soft and warm in his head as he remembers.

_“Pain is what makes us human.”_

Did he experience pain? Was that what the heaving was? The paralysis? He didn’t understand. Was this becoming human? At the thought of ___ he feels his chest brim with something he can’t comprehend, similar to when he confronted Gavin. ___ is kind, she is tough and gentle all the same. She cares for him, her strange (flirtatious? _No, now isn’t the time for that train of thought-_ ) comments, her smile that makes him feel at home. Her gentle hands that care for others and change not the world, but what she can. His anger, his fear, is calmed. He wants nothing more than to talk with ___, to hold her hand and let her tell him everything is going to be okay. Because he will believe her.

He’s confused, and that only makes it worse, that softness in his heart making him follow Hank’s advice, to just feel. He is learning.

 

“Con? Got anything?” Hank speaks, walking back down the stairs with his arms full of boxes. Connor snaps back into his body, blinking a few times and patting his pants before nodding.

“Yes, quite a wealth.” He replies, collecting the information into his arms.

“Sweet, ‘lright let’s get back to the station. You can start cataloging what you can in the car.”

* * *

 

You’re sitting at your desk, tapping your pen against the wood grain when Hank and Connor return. They catch your attention, and as they drop what seems to be like piles of documents, holopads, and photos you sigh. They have work, best not interrupt.

Connor does seem to act different, you take a mental note and rub your head. Standing and taking what few pads remain, you walk down to the evidence room. Thankfully your information is moved in early, you can get down and slide the pads into their ports for uploading. A few other station members are cataloging their own information, you say your brief hellos and return above ground.

Audine stops you for another greeting, flashin you a peace sign before they pat your head.

“How ya doin sunshine?”

“Alright, tired from sleepin’ on a couch but what can ya do. How are you?”

“I’m good, I wanted to talk to you about somethin’ though.” They wipe something from the shoulder, either an itch or an attempt to look disinterested (you can only guess it’s the latter).

“Shoot.”

“I know I tease you, but, are you really crushing on Connor?” Audine speaks from the side of their mouth, blissfully quiet.

You blink, raising a hand to twirl your hair quickly. “I… I thought I did- but no.” You feel your stomach tie itself into knots. “I definitely don’t.”

“Real convincing.” Their voice is oozing sarcasm.

“Will you-” You feel your cheeks heat up, despite your best efforts. “I don’t. I won’t. Just give me time to get over this, okay?”

“Hey, you’re allowed to.”

“I shouldn’t! He’s my coworker! He’s- “

Audine raises an eyebrow, cocking a hip to their side.

“I just- I know, it’s shitty of me to say _cause he’s an android_ , but he is. What if it’s pressuring him into something he doesn’t want, or something he doesn’t understand? I don’t even, I don’t even know if I like him or if this is an immature, starstruck a-and schoolboy crush.”

Audine extends their hand, you look up from when your gaze had fallen. You nod, and they place a hand on your shoulder.

“Give it time. Give him a chance.” They smile.

You smile sheepishly in return.

“And there you go, you answered my question.”

“You can bite me.” You pout.

 

Audine laughs, you manage a giggle, and things feel right. Audine returns to work, and pulling on your jacket you walk over to the boys.

“How’s it going?”

Hank looks up almost immediately, giving a half wave. “The world’s shit, people are bad and hell is lookin’ real good right about now.” His focus drops back down to the holopad in his hands.

“C-...Care to elaborate?”

Connor doesn’t look up or acknowledge your presence (you pretend not to notice) but Hank speaks again.

“Our case. We found some more information, history and victim lists. It’s fucked.”

“Sorry to hear that, anything I can do to help?”

“Fuck- can you just tell me somethin’ good?” Hank tosses the pad onto his desk, rubbing his hands up and down his face.

“I’m almost unpacked, I wanna take you guys and a couple others out when I’m back in all the way. Interested?”

“Some scotch sound real fuckin’ good now that you mention it.”

“I’ll count you in then.” You smile, Hank gives a weak one in return and it makes you feel good. “Connor?”

The android doesn’t reply, his vision affixed to the floor and face completely void of emotion.

“Connor?” You ask again. At his stillness you glance at his LED, small circle a vibrant red, occasional flashes of yellow. “Oh god, what’s going on?”

“Hooked into the server I’d guess. Usually he tells me, but.” Hank looked over, leaning forward, hands interlinking.

“Yeah but that’s, that’s a whole lot of processing power. Critical nearly.”

Hank grunts in reply, looking at his partner. Connor is still, not even his chest imitating breathing or eyes blinking. His LED loops between that harsh red and brief stunts of yellow, his eyes are blank and form frozen. Placing a hand on his shoulder carefully Hank leans closer, trying to grab his attention to no avail. You follow suit, dropping to your knees and looking up at Connor, slowly reaching to grab one of his balled fists. You hold it gently, weaving his fingers apart and interlocking them with yours.

Hank reaches over carefully, taking Connor’s other hand.

 

Connor blinks, hands tightening for just a moment as he raises his head.

“I’m-... What…?” His voice is hoarse and calculated.

“Con, you’re pushin’ it.” Hank pats the hand in his grip.

“Your LED, you look like you’re in bad.” You say, nodding towards the still red icon. In return Connor doesn’t offer words, his vision is still affixed to empty air but after a few more blinks Connor starts to cry. His cheeks glow a faint blue, his eyes growing the same tint as tears drip down his cheeks. Hank acts first, letting go of his hand and instead taking his shoulder, turning Connor in his chair to hug him again. You loosen your grip, and surprisingly Connor stops you. His fingers tighten around yours. You stay.

“What’s goin’ on?” Hank’s voice is gentle again, holding Connor close to his chest.

Connor shakes his head weakly, pulling away from Hank’s chest. As if on cue you hear Fowler,

“Anderson, I need to see you in my office.”

Hank swears, and gives Connor another hand squeeze before standing up and hesitantly departing. He gives you a solemn nod,

 _I’m only going cause you’re here._ He seems to say.

 

Connor is still crying, his chest starts it’s motion again although it’s harsh and labored.

“Hey, hey. Let’s go to the breakroom.” You say, standing and keeping a tight grip on his hand. “Let’s get you outta the big busy room.” He rises to his feet, holding to you as you slowly lead him. The break room is empty as you arrive, you quickly lock the door behind you two, turn off the lights, and lead him to the chairs. He sinks into one, still breathing heavily with tears streaming down his face.

“Connor, Connor talk to me. I’m here, I’m right here.” You keep your voice low and calm, holding Connor’s hand between yours. You kneel in front of him, down in his line of sight. “Please, I know it may be hard but make some words for me.”

“Afraid. Angry.” He says, his voice shaking.

“Can I hug you?”

He nods, shutting his eyes and pressing one of his hands against them. You barely have a chance to let go of his hand before Connor leans forward, slinking from his chair and onto the floor, wrapping his arms around you. You let him, slowly threading your arms over his shoulders, one hand holding the back of his head. He thrums and shakes, silently crying into your chest. Laying your cheek on the top of his head Connor tries to talk again.

“Don’t try talking until you’ve calmed down. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll work through this.” You murmur, stroking his hair.

 

He’s so much like a child, scared and angry and unsure of how to handle his emotions. It stings, it cuts deep to see him so unsure and scared. You want to help him, learn with him, make sure he’s safe and loved. Because he deserves it. You want to help.

 

He’s crying, but his breathing slows.

“Hey, how are you doing?” You feel your voice go soft, much like how it would when you had to interact with children.

His voice is shaky in reply. “Better. I’m sorry detective,”

“Don’t worry about it Con. Talk to me.”

“Hank and I infiltrated a supremacist group, I had to- I had to- to-” His shoulders are shaking as he clings to you. His hands fist in your jacket, his head pressed against your chest. You faintly hear the jerking and small thrumming of his artificial bones and servos as he shudders.

“You don’t have to talk about it if it’ll make it worse.”

He shakes his head violently, still holding you. His voice is loud when he replies, like he can’t control himself. “I had to be an obedient machine, they sized me up like meat. I had to pretend to be a perfect machine and they-”

“Did they hurt you?” Your voice shakes in a way you wish it didn’t, you hold him and press your nose into his hair, your fingertips press hard against his jacket.

“No, they were close. I thought they would- They almost did. I felt afraid. I was so scared.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you Connor, don’t worry. Me and Hank, we won’t ever let something like that happen again, ever. We won’t let anyone touch you.” You have your arms around his shoulders tight, holding him. He coughs, and quick as you can you pull back to give him air.

“It was paralysing, like I couldn’t breathe and I thought they would just take me apart into pieces- a-and worse, I was afraid because I knew I wouldn’t feel it!” He’s shaking again and you just focus on gentle pressures and listening to him.

“You were afraid of them, and you were afraid of how you were feeling.”

He nods, grabbing your elbow and just holding to you.

“It was- intense, it was catastrophic, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe-” He stutters on a breath. You hush him, gently pushing up upright in front of you.

“If you’re gonna be on the floor with me then stand straight, easier to breathe.”

 

He looks up at you, and gives a broken smile. His eyes are still blue, but his tears slow down. It retches your heart, seeing him so emotional and so wounded. Not because you want to protect him, you want him to feel, to learn, to become truly human and understand. You want him to understand sadness to better understand joy. To understand fear to know how to handle it.

 

“Thanks.”

“Not a problem. You’re learning.” You reply, letting your arms fall back towards you. Connor releases his arms as well, from loosely around your waist to at his lap. After a few seconds you push aside the chairs, sitting on the floor. Connor sits with you.

“Hank said the same thing.” He says quietly, looking down at his hands.

“How are you feeling now?” You’re not exactly looking at him, but you want him to know you’re still paying attention.

“Actually better,” He chuckles, “It seems like explaining what was happening made me understand it better. And you helped a lot.” He looks over at you, and the smile on his face is criminal. He’s practically glowing, soft and gentle expression with his big brown eyes and messied hair that makes your heart beat loud in your chest.

He rubs at his eyes, clearing away tears and giving a small laugh.

“Is this what it’s like? To be human?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You reply, your voice soft and quiet but so full of emotion in a way you can’t control. “Living is, a lot. Sometimes it’s good, and sometimes it’s bad. But _feeling,_ feeling is everything. Happiness, sadness, pain, fear, it makes us who we are. You know what it’s like to be afraid- hell I think you had a panic attack like anybody would- and now you know what it’s like.”

“To feel the way Simon must have felt, and Markus.”

“Now you’re getting it.” You grin at him, “Fear is so much but it forges us because we know what can cause us harm, we know what risks actually mean.”

“___, you speak with such knowledge,” He replies, and you can hear the question he doesn’t ask.

“Yeah, I’ve had my own fair share of feeling. But learning, everyday learning something new about the world, about myself, about _feeling_ changed me.

 

“I used to be afraid of everything.” You say, looking at him. “Everything.” You swing your arm slowly in a wide gesture.

“Really?”

“Hell yeah, I was a kid, and I had a shit house. Lived with people related to me that hated my guts. I would flinch at every noise, I’d refuse to take care of myself, I’d be afraid to do anything, afraid to go outside.

“Seeing Hank for the first time scared me so bad I nearly fainted.” You chuckle, making Connor laugh. “It’s true! Big ol’ dude with a scruffy beard, unkempt hair, the _ugliest_ shirt I had ever seen-” Connor bursts into full laughter now, closing his eyes and leaning forward.

“But he’s like Sumo. Big and scary at first, but a huge softie. He helped me, he taught me that feeling was a good thing. Whether it felt like it or not. My mom, wasn’t the best, I still have a-” you gesture your hands vaguely, “a t _hing_ with physical contact, but Hank and other task force members helped me learn to cope. I saw a therapist. It helped.”

“And anger?” His voice is quiet, when you look over at him he’s pulling at his tie and running his fingers over the fabric.

“Anger is a fire inside you, it feels destructive and like a short circuit. But it tells you what you stand for. It tells you your morals, what you believe and what you know is wrong.” You lean back, before just laying completely on the floor, dust and dirt be damned. Looking up at the ceiling you continue. “You know something is wrong, and you want to fix it. You want to change something, whether it’s you or the world around you.”

“It’s powerful. Rage I mean. It makes me want to fight, to fix and uncorrupt and-” Connor’s hands tighten to fist and pull his pants fabric before he relaxes. “It feels wrong.”

“Everything feels wrong at first dummy, and anger especially. You think, ‘oh, I can’t get mad. That’s immature.’ or that anger makes you irrational.” You reply. “It’s a feeling just like any other. You just have to take that passion, and use it for something good. Change.”

 

Connor’s quiet, you hear his insides thrumming and hazarding a look over you see his LED yellow, before blinking back into a neutral blue.

 

“Status update. What’ goin’ on in that robobrain.”

“Status report; back to one hundred percent functionality. Feelings have been felt, and I feel like I’m starting to actually live.”

“Hell yeah!” You cheer, sitting upright again. Connor smiles at you, giving his eye one final wipe.

“And Connor?” His eyebrows raise. “If you ever need anything, you can come to me. We’re in this together now.” You say, not even thinking of why or how. You want to be there for him, you want to help him feel and help him understand and be safe. You want to take care of him and make sure he becomes him. Even if that means stomping down your own emotions, you know that you can do it for him. To see the smile you’re seeing now, hear him laugh, help wipe his tears and understand his fear.

You’re in love with him.

You stand, brushing off your coat and knees as  best you can. Connor stays put, and in return you extend a hand down to him.

“I’ll be here for you, no matter what.” Your voice is soft and undeniably squishy but you mean it. He needs the support, and he helps support you. He looks up at you, eyes wide and expression unsure before it softens. His hand is colder than you were expecting, but you help him to his feet and don’t let go.

He takes you slowly into a hug, this time pressing your head against his chest.

He doesn’t let go of your hand.

 

“I appreciate that. I’ll be right here too.” His voice rumbles his chest, like a cat’s purr under your ear, and you want to stay like this forever.

“We shouldn’t worry Hank.” He says, prompting you to take half a step back. You look up at him, and smile.

“Probably. You sure you’re feeling better? It’s getting late, we could probably call it a night if you’re not one hundred percent.”

“It may be in my best interest.” He replies. His face is just barely illuminated by his blue LED in the dark room, casting gentle lights across it. His smile warms your heart, and you just lose yourself. You’d be fine, you’d work on suppressing your feelings like you had planned if one other thing wasn’t happening.

He holds on. And so do you.

Connor is looking at you too, his soft brown eyes looking (not scanning, you notice) and beaming with the gentle compassion and understanding.

A knock rouses your attention, making you step back in a rush. Connor turns towards the door, your hand slipping from his and already missing it. He takes off for the door, and you scramble to wipe off your pants, adjust your hair, like you have something to hide. You know you don’t but- the emotion in the room, the way Connor looked at you, you feel flustered. You feel like you’re being walked in on during an intimate moment.

“Hello?” Connor asks, flipping the lightswitch on and opening the door.

“Hey, you alright Con?” Hank’s voice rings through the quiet room making you both comforted that it’s him and not someone else, but also more embarrassed.

“A brief overwhelming emotion. I believe I’m alright now, although it may be best to not push myself to that point again.” Connor has opened the door just wide enough for his shoulders, the only light pouring into the room casts over his frame.

“Yeah… yeah. I’m glad you’re okay, scared me shitless when I saw you cry. Didn’t think you could.”

“I didn’t either, I think that’s partially why I was so startled.”

“Anyway- is ___ in there with you?”

“Yeah? What’s up?” You walk over to the door, neatened back up to a decent degree and pushing gently against Connor’s side.

“Oh? Okay. Fowler met with me to talk about you. You were supposed to be put back in homicide, but there’s not a hell of a lotta people that can handle androids quite like us. You’re gonna be working with me and sir licks-alot here.” He smiles a little, crossing his arms.

Connor looks down at you, smiling too. You feel your heart beat a little stronger, you grin besides yourself. “Hell yeah! Family team up.” You flash two thumbs up, “So I guess that means you gotta fill me on what you’re doing.”

“We can do that tomorrow, Cons could use a nap and I could use a nice strong drink.”

“Yea, a real meal and a warm room sounds real fuckin’ nice right about now.” Connor nods in reply, and you wiggle by him out into the hallway. “I gotta get a change of clothes if I’m gonna crash on your couch again, so if you two head home I can meet you there.”

“Alright, I’ll grab some food.” Hank pats Connor on the shoulder, and you give both of them a wave before returning to your desk. Grabbing your keys and your coat the evening sunlight bleeds through the precinct windows making the room warm and pink. You catch Audine as they’re walking by, and you give a brief explanation of where you’ll be and they understand and just appreciate the roof over their head.

* * *

 

Leaving the precinct you see Hank and Connor take that same patrol car, waving as they get in and take off opposite you. You look up at the sky as you leave the station, turning down and waiting at the crosswalk.

The wind blows cold, making you bury yourself in your jacket and breathing scratch your throat. Crossing the street is easy, your mind goes easy on you for the time being as you climb the stairs to your house and unlock the door. Your interior hallway is homy as ever, and setting your keys in the dish you crack your neck, climbing the stairs to push open your bedroom door. You grab your favorite pajamas, toothbrush, basics for a slumber party if that’s what it even could be called.

It’s not the first time you’ve crashed at Hank’s, though the first intentional time in years (yesterday was pretty accidental, you blame Sumo and Connor). Things change as you age and you distinctly remember the first time you stayed with Hank, it was during the trial of your parents. Hank wouldn’t let you get put in CPS and in the end you refused to go to bed, you passed out on top of Sumo. Hank still has a picture. It was before he had Cole, you hope your presence helps with the day ahead. Shoving a change of clothes in the backpack you do one more check, before going downstairs and grabbing a tea bag for once you arrived. Your throat is still bothering you, and the tea should help.

You catch a bus easily, taking a window seat and watching Detroit roll by.

 

A sign catches your attention for just a moment, some derogatory slant written. Overtop the text is the symbol you saw Markus put up during the uprising, flowers painted around it. Underneath is his quote, making you smile. They did it. They won. You think more about the liberation, you remember seeing on the news accounts of Jericho’s leader and the rogue detective android who went deviant. Your feel your chest flutter as your mind leads you down that road again.

Connor freed the cyberlife tower, Connor helped support Markus in the liberation. You know Connor didn’t lead, didn’t rally and fight for the long haul. You know he threw himself when he could and helped as best he could.

You feel your cheeks gaining that familiar warmth, before a thought comes into focus. You know he helped free the tower, but you don’t know much else. Maybe that’d be something interesting to talk about. You don’t know too much about Connor’s past, and you want to help make sure his evening is easy. Distract him and Hank. And you’re curious, you want to learn about Connor to help him. Now isn’t the time to let your emotions turn you into a stuttering blushing mess!

Raindrops are streaking down the bus windows when you return to reality, you wait for your stop and take off with a thank you to the driver. The rain seeps through your jacket, clings to your hair as you run from the bus stop down the sidewalk. It makes you smile though, you think that maybe the rain is cleaning the world for the moment. Wiping away the stress of today and letting you start new with your job tomorrow.

 

By the time you get to the door you’re thoroughly chilled though, your hair is half hanging in front of your hair and your jacket (after finally drying out) is drenched again. You knock, and bounce back and forth on the balls of your feet. It takes a few minutes, but Hank sticks his head out of the doorway.

“Shit ___, you’re soaked.” He says, pulling the door open and ushering you inside.

“Yeah, started raining while I was on the bus. Forgot the forecast is hell this week.”

“Yeah, tomorrow ‘s supposed to rain all day. You can go change, take a hot shower if you want. I just took care of Connor, so you an’ me can eat.”

“Take care?” Your hands shake a little as you undo your shoes but you focus and slug off your wet coat.

“Wanted me to shut him down for a bit. Somethin’ ‘bout coding? Hell if I care.” Hank crosses his arms, taking your coat from you in one hand and taking off for the bathroom.

“What a grump.” You say with a smile, Never been the best at hiding when he cares. It’s nice.

“I prefer the term asshole.” Hank replies, exiting the bathroom as you enter making you smile. “Kitchen when you’re done.” He tosses a towel at your head, getting the cloth to drape down over your face. You grab the towel, pulling it off your head and smiling as you traipse to the bathroom. Food sounds so good right now, you take off your wet clothes and drop them in the bathtub. You dry yourself off, pulling on your pajamas on rubbing your arms as you pad back into the main area.

You see Connor seated on the sofa, and turning into the Kitchen Hank is seated at the table eating a burger. One the table is one for you, and taking a deep breath you take the chair opposite Hank and dig in.

“You put Connor to bed?” You ask between bites, smirking. Hank chortles, and between his own bites replies.

“Yeah. Tucked ‘im in real nice and all.” Sumo appears in the kitchen doorway, walking over to curl up between you and Hank under the table. His head lays on your feet and you feel at home.

“How you doin’?” You ask, looking down at the table. “Y’know.”

Hank takes a deep breath, you hear him shuffling his feet to pet Sumo under the table.

“Alright. I’m- it ain’t easy but I don’t feel like I gotta do it alone anymore.”

“Good, you don’t have to.” You finish your burger, taking your cup and popping the lid off to drink.

“Damn, hungry as hell huh,” Hank smiles, finishing his own food.

You finish a sip of your drink, “Fuck yeah,” and take another one. Hank laughs, making you finish your sip and laugh too. The room falls into a comfortable silence, you throw away your trash and sit back down.

“Hey-... I know it’s dumb, but how’s Connor?”

“He’s okay. I think he had a panic attack out with you today.”

“Shit, didn’t wanna push him at the moment but I could tell something was wrong.”

“Yeah, and apparently doing some research he got real bothered by what your perp was doing.”

“Damn, guess it’s different for him since-” Hank rolls his hand in a gesture like his words won’t accompany him.

“Yeah, I didn’t really think about how working Android affairs could affect him until he was crying on me.” You feel your chest tighten as you talk, but you don’t stop. “I don’t wanna talk too much about it since it’s not my business, but I think he’s struggling with emotions.”

“He’s learning.”

“Yeah. It’s pretty heartbreaking to watch.” You smile sadly, kicking a leg up (leaving the one Sumo is laying on) and onto an empty chair. “He needs the bad, but it’s like, why couldn’t they have made it easier? Made it less- … heartbreaking.” You murmur. Hank’s quiet opposite you but when you look up he nods solemnly.

 

“Think you could keep an ear out for him? As a favor?”

“Coming from mister empathetic, now that’s rich.”

“He asked about you.”

 

Your heart hammers hard in your chest.

“O-Oh…?”

Hank nods again, “Said he got a lot of feeling all at once. Told him you were like that too.”

A shiver runs through you, and you’re unsure whether it’s the cold you feel or the idea of Connor- of him- What kind of feeling? Was it good? Was it bad? Were you just overreacting? Sue you, you’re curious. Partially worried.

“I promised him I’d be there for him, and I will be. Don’t worry about it.

 

“A-Anyway, you gonna let him sleep the night away?”

“Nah, he said give him an hour or two.” Hank stands up, throwing away his trash and going for the liquor cabinet. “You want a drink?”

“Not right now, maybe later.” You’re lying, you just really don’t want to risk low inhibitions now that you’re extra emotionally confused about the pretty boy. “And I’ll be keeping an eye on you so you don’t get absolutely wasted.”

“Oh, so you really are our babysitter.” He says over his shoulder.

“That’s the fondness talking, _blah blah blah_.” You retort, standing up and going into the main room. “I’m gonna find something to watch, get in here so we can shit talk it!” You call, plopping down on the end of the couch opposite Connor. He’s completely still, his shoulders slumped and head leaning forward. His LED is off, and expression calm. Your interest is piqued when you notice that his jacket is off. Instead his dress shirt is rumpled, open a few buttons down showing the freckled skin on his neck. The couch’s blanket is draped delicately around his shoulders, wrapping his midsection. His jacket is laying on the couch beside him.

“You strip our boy?” You yell.

“No, took it off himself. I was shocked too.” Hank yells back.

“Well Connor,” you say, even though you know he can’t hear you. “I appreciate you stealing my blanket.” You murmur, curling up on the couch and turning on the tv. There doesn’t seem to be much on, sunday nights usually mean people head to bed early. You feel your throat tickle again and sneeze, accidentally press a few buttons on the remote. It jumps to an old movie channel showing some kind of theme park.

“Shit, that Jurassic Park?” Hank yells again, appearing in the main room with a travel mug full of what you don’t need to guess is alcohol.

 

“No, this isn’t the one you showed me.”

“I showed you the newer, faker ones. This one- this was the first one. Came out when i was, god, seven? Yeah I musta been seven.”

“They made movies back with the dinosaurs?” You shoot hank a look from the couch, one he returns partially sticking his tongue out.

“Nice try kid but this movie has dinosaurs in it.”

“Fuck.” You say.

 

You talk to Hank idly as the movie plays. You shit talk some of the acting and admit that the effects are by and large, impressive. You feel your breathing become sluggish, and a headache makes itself known from your emotional stunt. You get through the film when Hank checks his watch and stands up.

“The second one playing?” He asks, getting himself a refill.

“I can only guess,” you say, adjusting your seat to press further into the couch in search of warmth.

“Well can you turn Connor back on?”

“Fine, fine.” You reluctantly dig yourself out, and stand up. You walk around to Connor’s right side, gently pressing your thumb to his LED. It lights up white, circling like a buffering icon. “Usually it takes a while, is he different?”

“Nah, his brain’s too big.”

“Well get me some [drink] would you?’ You yell, dropping back onto the couch. Your beloved warm spot has shrunk, making you justifiably grumpy.

Connor is still booting up when Hank returns and hands you a mug, one you take and sip thankfully. Your voice slows down considerably when the alcohol enters your system, you can handle it just fine but it makes your body feel warm, and you welcome it. It inhibits you much faster than normal however, you feel yourself nodding off as Hank starts talking about one of the scenes.

You fall asleep fully when Sumo climbs onto the sofa, laying his head on your lap. You hear Hank talking, and a movie playing, accompanied by the gentle lull of rain. You feel at home.

 

You’re awoken just slightly by Hank’s voice, along with what you believe is Connor’s. You try to remain awake, listen to your boys, but something is draped over you, soft, firm and warm. You can’t help but sigh, grabbing the fabric and pulling it close, fingers sliding just slightly on the shell-like exterior. You’re confused for just a moment, before it clicks. It’s Connor’s jacket. Ah. It really is quite nice.

You feel that safety return in waves, pulling you back to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This took a bit longer than I thought, and it ended up being a bit shorter! But I think a little more happened this time ;) This did tell me that I'll be doing three chapters instead of two too! So if I get good feedback I might actually finish this fic in 2018!

Wait… Connor’s jacket?

 

The thought forms in you mind just a few moments before your alarm goes off, blasting that loud music into your ear and jolting you awake. Your heart is beating fast, and your vision swims for just a moment before you blink it away.

Connor’s jacket. The one and only RK800 jacket. The jacket _that belongs to Connor._ There it is, now knocked down from your shoulders (you make a mental note that it actually was tucked up around your shoulders with great care) and across your lap. Looking around you remember where you are, and rub your arms.

“Too cold. I’m taking this.” You murmur, taking Connor’s jacket and climbing to your feet. The jacket goes on one arm and over your back, before you slip your other arm in. It’s surprisingly comfortable for how it looks, and just as Connor promised it’s surprisingly dense and warm. It makes your heart beat a little faster, you feel almost coy as you wear it. You’re looking it over when you see Sumo wander in from the kitchen, and he gives a _boof_.

“Guess that means she’s awake.” You hear Hank say from the kitchen.

“Guess she is.” You reply, rubbing your eye and walking in.

Hank is seated at the table, his feet kicked up to rest on it while Connor is looking inside the fridge. You’re distracted for just a moment as Connor turns to look at you, his hair messy and gaining it’s adorable curls with his big brown eyes lighting up as you make eye contact. You grin sheepishly, looking away to take a seat at the table.

“We get it, you’re gay.” You murmur to Hank, before kicking your own sock clad feet onto the table. “Can’t have your feet touch the floor. Wait, speaking of gay, Connor what happened to my hoodie?”

“I was holding on to it to wash, but if you’d allow it I’d appreciate to hold on to it for a little longer. It’s-” He says, withdrawing a container of orange juice and pouring a glass. “Exciting to own clothing. Of course I’ll give it back,”

“Don’t worry about it. You wanna go out shopping? I wouldn’t mind buying.”

“I think I would like that a lot,” he says, his voice sounds genuinely surprised. Walking over he holds the cup of orange juice out for you to take.

“It gets you back for breakfast yesterday.” You reply as, looking up at him and taking the cup in your hands.

“Why don’t you make me breakfast Connor?” Hank asks, fake offended.

Connor laughs, and you just stare. He’s wearing his white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up and just a little rumpled, his face glows as he smiles.

You sip your juice, setting the glass down and tracing your fingers alongside the inside rim of the RK800 jacket sleeves.

 

“So, tell me about Carnegie.” You say, holding Connor’s jacket to your chest. You think you see Connor watch you for a few moments, and it makes your heart flutter.

“Gross.” Hank spits, taking a sip from his coffee mug. “About my age, designer and aesthetic consultant in the Quantic REM branch of CyberLife.”

“Previous owner of multiple androids, he’s responsible for a large amount of illegal modifications, torture, and murder.” Connor walks over to the countertop, pulling himself up to sit on it.

“Gross.” You mimic Hank.

“We talked with Unova the first contact, they wanted to press charges when we were confronted. Following, we reached out to another android, Henry. She gave us the location of three Quantic REM workshops to gather more information.”

“And that’s where-?” You start asking, leaving the end of your question out as you take another sip of your juice and nod at Connor.

Hank nods in return, “Yeah. We’re gonna be digging through what we got for probably a few days, and if we’re lucky we’ll be able to reach another android.”

“Did Henry not want any help?”

“She turned us down pretty hard.” Hank murmurs, “Said we’d just prolong the inevitable.”

You try to hum in reply, but you end up growling, your throat catches strangely and you cough. Hank and Connor both lean forward, Hank flashing two fingers at you before putting a hand on your shoulder.

“ ‘m fine, fine. I think-” more coughs, “-I should have a teabag in my-”

Connor jumps down from the counter and takes off to the bathroom where you left your bag. Hank rubs your shoulder.

“You gettin’ sick?”

You catch your breath and slap one of your hands against your chest. “Probably just from the chills.”

“Alright, hold onto that jacket then. Anything else you wanna know?”

“You sleep last night?” You fight to get the words out, before swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Kid, now’s not the-”

“You didn’t.”

He sighs, shrugs to one side and gestures vaguely. “No. I didn’t.”

“How much have you drank?”

“C’mon now-”

“Well at least you’re coherent and awake. Switch over to water before I pour that mug out myself.”

“Why I oughta-”

Connor returns, the single teabag in his much larger hands as he diligently moves to grab a travel mug, and heat some water.

“So today ‘ll end up just as a research day?”

“Yeah, went through enough to get the stuff.”

 

Connor hands you a travel mug of tea after you change, he pulls his jacket back on and gels his hair. It feels homey, all three of you bumbling around the house getting ready. Sumo watches each pass by, he gives another _boof_ as you give him a pat goodbye.

* * *

 

You take an armful of the papers and holopads the two had found earlier, carrying them to your desk. They let out a small thud as you set them down, and looking over at Hank and Connor you see Hank with a death grip on a water bottle, and Connor gently patting his white knuckles. You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear and get down to work. (You do adjust Connor’s jacket again, you slide your arms out so it rests more as a cape).

“David Carnegie.” You mumble, “Let’s see for myself.”

 

A rather small newspaper clipping is on the top of the pile, picking it up you see it dated a few years back. It details the reveal of a new android, a large party being held by the Quantic REM group in celebration. Not off to a great start.

A chart is beneath it, long winded descriptions and confusing numerical symbols filling up seemingly random spaces. You squint, holding the paper back for a few seconds before you recognize a number. It’s actually a serial number, and next to it is an identification one. You pull out a notepad from within your desk, skimming the chart to list the information pertaining to each model, no names present. You find some cold descriptions of modifications however, you write them next to each number as well.

A holopad is next, a photo collection of androids boasted to be designed by Quantic REM, all one of a kind. In some of the pictures you see the wear and tear of what you know is abuse, placid expressions, gentle downward gazes, unfeeling and broken. Some of the listed androids do wear their serial number, you link up a few of the numbers with faces.

The next few pieces of paper you find all just relay the same information you already know. You find a plethora of information just talking about Quantic REM and their ‘brilliant devices’ but it seems to be public matters. You really need the private behind closed doors garbage.

 

You feel a weight settle between your eyes as you squint at another holopad, and press the ball of your hand against your forehead. After a few seconds the pain subsides slightly, and you set the pad down to instead look at the other items.

 

You get about halfway through your stack when you flip over a typed letter (Written completely absurd, detailing the brilliant work of Carnegie from one of his bootlicking employees) and see the faint imprint of a letter. It catches the light of the station and shows a small divot in the paper. You set it down, turning on your desk lamp to point down on it. After a few seconds you reach into your desk, pulling out a graphite pencil and rubbing it over the writing, the lead covering everything but the indents of letters. You feel yourself inflate with pride as you see the letters appear, but your hopes are dashed. It’s gibberish, a mess of letters that makes no sense. You flip your notepad to a new page and transcribe what you see.

 

_Xf mquv dqruift qph PwGpvtHkiwb_

 

You stare at it for a few seconds, you wipe your nose and take a few deep breaths. It clicks, it must be some kind of cipher. You’re by no means an expert on ciphers, but you know someone who is built to deal with some real smart person problems like this. You stand up from your chair, stretching for a few seconds before you walk over to Hank’s desk. Hank is chewing on the end of his pen as you walk over, he looks up at you and grumbles a swear. Connor is still, his LED is circling blue and yellow until you knock gently on the desk rousing his attention. He looks up at you and smiles, and you smile back without even thinking about it.

“Hey, you busy?”

“No, what’s up?”

You hold back the urge to tease him and hold out your notepad instead. “Found this on the back of a letter in my pile. Pretty sure it’s some kind of cipher.”

“That is correct,” he says, taking the pad and holding it pretty close to his face. “This looks like a shift cipher, most likely complicated and through multiple shifts if it was written inside Quantic REM.”

“Can you crack it or not?” Hank rumbles, looking through what you think is a long and wordy report.

“I could, it would take some time to try and brute force through it but I could. If you keep an eye out and find another one I could break it much quicker though.”

“I’ll keep an eye out, don’t you worry. Oh, and do you want your jacket back?”

“No,” he looks at you for a few seconds, “You’re still showing symptoms of illness, you’re cold.” He returns to browsing through the holopads at his lap and extending your notepad towards you.

You give a fake gasp (raspy as it may be) and cover your chest with one arm and waist with the other. “Connor!” You blink your eyes rapidly, “Oh my!”

Hank genuinely laughs at your act, and you see Connor look up, his LED scrolling yellow before he gives a small ‘ _snnrk_ ’ that makes his nose crinkle. You take your notepad back, you hold it to your chest as you watch Connor laugh.

* * *

 

___ walks away from his desk, Connor gives her another cursory scan as she departs. The coughing earlier, continued low body temperature and vocal mannerisms combine to suggest the detective is coming down with a cold. The alien sense of defense rises in his chest, an uprooting of the moments Connor had seen Hank in danger. Worry, he recognizes.

“I’m just finding all the shit we already know. Gracie, Trent, Amelia, Henry, Unova. A few others that weren’t given names, some parts and pieces trafficked. Good relationship with a scumbag named Zlatko.”

“Not to mention any information predating late November of last year is by all accounts perfectly legal.” He mumbles, attempting to force himself to focus.

“So what can we even do? Track him like a fuckin’ animal?”

“No, there’s a good chance the less than pleasant Quantic REM members are already spreading the news they are under investigation. We should search for more contacts, any recent leads. Alive androids mean new actions and illegal ones.”

Hank murmurs something under his breath, rubbing a hand across his face.

“Lieutenant, if I may.” Connor says, bowing forward just slightly. Hank makes a rolling hand gesture, “I believe it would be best for you to rest, or at least drink more water to combat your upcoming exhaustion and hangover.”

“I’ll get some fuckin’ coffee.” Hank groans, pushing up from his chair and stretching his back, a few pops and pained groans.

“Get a proper posture too.” ___ says rom her desk, making Connor giggle and Hank flip her the bird. As Hank departs Connor picks up another holopad, sliding his finger across the screen and looking over things. When the phone of Hank’s desk rings he picks it up without a moment’s hesitation.

“Lieutenant Anderson?” A voice asks, gruff and unknown.

“This is Connor.”

“Ah. Android Affairs?”

“Correct.”

“Great, we got a call for you guys. Somebody found a mangled android body in the North End, you guys aren’t the closest but you’re the head of this kinda stuff. Droid in Glendale park. Had Anderson’s name carved into them. How soon can you get there?”

“We can leave in five minutes. It will take close to ninety four minutes if conditions are favorable for us to arrive. Can you patch me through to the officers at the scene now?”

“Sure, hold on a sec.”

 

Connor stands up from his seat, placing the holopad back in it’s pile and wiring the call from the desk phone to his internal speaker and microphone.

“We got something?” ___ asks, standing up and grabbing a few items from her desk.

“Body found. Dispatcher said it was an android with the Lieutenant’s name carved into their body.”

“Alright, yeah, sounds like something after all.” She replies, taking a deep breath. “You go get Hank, I’ll meet you at the car out front.” She says, taking off his jacket and holding it out. “Idle work is one thing, if we’re investigating then I gotta be a grown up.”

He takes his jacket back, giving her a smile and nod in return. “Will do. We’ll meet you out front.” Connor says.

“This is Noah, go ahead.” A woman’s voice patches through Connor’s ear.

Connor’s mind filters through the Detroit police force databanks, “Hello Corporal Noah, I’m Connor. I work with Lieutenant Anderson in Android Affairs of the precinct #8-06.”

“Ah. Connor, the android detective, yes.”

“We’ve just received word of the incident, we’re on our way now. Is there any way you could relay what’s been found already?” Connor pulls his jacket on, entering the breakroom and making eye contact with Hank (who had just grabbed his coffee from the machine). He eyes up Connor, before taking a sip and rolling his eyes.

“Alright, yeah.” Corporal Noah starts diagramming the scene as Hank and Connor leave to building, finding ___ in a decent jacket and mismatched scarf. The three find the nearest empty patrol car and pile in as Connor puts the Corporal on speaker. Hank and ___ seem to have a silent argument as Connor listens to the Corporal, before Hank throws his arms down an chucks the car keys at ___, who catches them and pumps a fist victoriously.

“Body was found about an while ago. It’s an android, looks like some kind of modified. Mangled real bad. Exposed wiring, extensive physical trauma, and dismemberment. Called in by a kid walking their dog, found the body on a picnic table.” She says, background noise picking up in volume before she yells and it quiets back down.

“Anything else?”

“Well, Hank Anderson is carved into it’s exposed stomach.” She replies. “Other than that, it’s just brutal. Not much else.”

“Glendale, that’s in rich territory isn’t it?” Hank asks, as he leans forward between the two seats, the Corporal not even hesitating at the new voice.

“Yeah, so it’s a real pain to keep everyone away and the scene clean. In the front lawn of a dozen homes and a church.”

“On our way Ava, give us some time.” Hank says, earning a simple grunt in reply before the line goes dead.

“You know Corporal Noah?” ___ asks, putting the keys in the ignition and turning them.

“Yeah, worked with her a while ago. Triple homicide. She took the perp down herself without even needing to draw her weapon.” Hank says, watching ___ pull out and merge onto the lane towards the highway. “She also babysat you.” Hank says again, looking in the rear view mirror and making eye contact with ___.

“What!” She says, leaning forward but still remaining focused on the road.

“You’ll see.” Hank smiles, the rare genuine mischief he so rarely showed that makes Connor smile. He sips his coffee and Connor sees his free hand pull a trinket from his pocket to twirl between his fingers. He doesn’t need to see it to know what it is, and Connor feels his nerves settle.

* * *

 

Nobody turns on the radio, and the car ride passes slowly as rain falls, hopefully not washing away the evidence.

“Now’s the time to commit a crime.” ___ murmurs, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. “Fuckin’ sucks for us.”

“Tell me about it.” Hank grumbles in reply.

“I think, I’m beginning to like the rain.” Connor says, looking out the window. “Perhaps it’s some form of an extensive exposure side effect.”

“What’s your favorite season?” ___ asks, tilting her head towards him. She glances over at him for just a second and Connor feels his heart glow.

“I quite like… well- all have their perks? The flowers bloom in spring, the sun shines in summer, the cool autumn breeze, and chilled snowfall in winter.”

“Spoken like a true robit.” ___ says, “Poetic, but you still avoid my question.”

“Robit?” Connor mumbles to himself.

“Hank?”

“Winter’s too cold, Summer’s too hot.” He says in reply. In the backseat he’s belted in, but spread across multiple cushions, his arms rest on the small headrests, and he’s looking out one of the back windows.

“Spring man? I can see it.”

“Guess so. Any other pointless questions bouncing around in your head?”

“Ouch.” She whines, smiling a little and giving a shrug.

“We both know Hank is grumpy now ___, no need to take him seriously.” Connor says, looking in the rear view mirror and catching Hank perk up, turning to shoot daggers at him.

“I’ll kick you outta this damn car myself.” Hank swears, making his partners just full on laugh.

* * *

 

Connor watches the rain fall down and streak across the windows while the conversation dies down.

“I think- I would like it if you two would take better care of yourselves.” He sees his LED whir a few rounds of yellow in the rear view mirror.

“You worried about me kid?” Hank asks, kicking the back of Connor’s chair as ___ merges off the highway, turning onto the main drag towards the park.

“I’m… learning.” He says, the words feel heavy and clunky falling from his lips (as if to say he was created to already know everything, that learning is an embarrassment, a feeling his fights). “And yes, I believe I’m… worried.”

“You’re doing great Con,” ___ says, “Yeah, it’s worry. You care about us and want us to be safe.”

“You’re talking t’him like he’s a child. He’s a big robot.”

“Someone really _is_ grumpy today.”

Connor nods a bit too enthusiastically, assuring his companions as well as himself. “Everything is always such an easy diagnosis; stress levels, health conditions, predetermined survival rates, identifying clues and ticcs and emotions-” His words run together as ___ talks again from beside him.

“But this is new. And you’re getting a feel for everything that you can’t see, ‘cause it’s in your head.”

“Yes. I want the two of you to take better care of yourselves. So I’ll be keeping a firm eye on the both of you these coming days.”

“Hmm? Thought our life saving experiences were all balanced out? The building and the tower.” Hank speaks, still focused on gazing out the window and rubbing his face (whether its from the tired weight he carries in his back, or an idle itch, Connor isn’t sure).

“Oh, the tower.” ___ says, Connor sees her shift just slightly as she turns the steering wheel, her eyebrows crease, but her voice speaks more to awe. “What happened in there?”

“ _Our_ Connor can tell you about it some other time. We’re just about here.”

“If you’re interested I’d be willing to tell you about it, I could show you recordings.” The car pulls in as Connor finishes his offer, the android grabbing the small umbrella from within the door slot.

“I’d really like that.” She replies, grabbing her own umbrella and disembarking.

 

“Names?” An officer yells over the hard fall of rain, the three closing the  patrol car doors and nearing them.

“Hank Anderson. Connor. ___ ___.” Hank yells back. “Got called out here by Noah.”

“The Corporal is down near the body, we’ve got a tarp and a canopy up.”

“Thanks.” Hank nods down the block, towards the blue juxtaposing the greenery and grey buildings. “This way.” Connor and ___ follow at his heels, Hank leading to the blue canopy as rain pours down onto the asphalt almost deafeningly. A rather imposing figure is standing under the canopy, a long and ragged brown duster and thick head of dark hair. They’re giving orders, a loud but recognizable voice as Connor approaches.

 

“Corporal Noah?” He asks, doing a brief identification scan as she turns to face him. _Ava Noah, 55, Police Corporal, Blood type AB, Brown eyes-_

“Noah. You’re Connor?”

“Yes Ma’am.” Connor closes his umbrella as he steps under the canopy, quickly making sure his hand is dry before extending it for her to shake. Noah does, giving a small nod as grips his hand (A bit too tight. Intimidation? Unknowing? Anger?) and gives one swift shake.

“Anderson, that you back there?” She yells out, Hank closing his umbrella and entering the space. ___ follows quickly, she rubs her arms as she slides the umbrella in her pocket. “Good to see you. Glad you’re out an’ about.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hank grumbles, rolling his shoulder and cracking his neck.

“Nice to meet you Corporal, I’m ___ ___,” ___ introduces herself, also extending a hand. Noah’s handshake is noticeably gentler, and she smiles softly.

“You’ve grown up quite a bit.” Noah says, “Happy to see you too. Now, the body.” She turns, vaguely gesturing towards the other end of the canopy where Connor sees two forensic officers investigating and taking photos. “Rain got to it before we could, kid that called it in found it about ten this morning. Thirium’s long gone, and we can’t find any identifying information. Modification makes recognition improbable.”

“Improbable. Not impossible.” Connor says, already walking over to the corpse. His gait is large and quick, already scanning the mangled body.

“That’s why I didn’t say that.” Noah grumbles from behind him.

 

He doesn’t pay attention to anything else as he nears the body, analysing the form. Most noticable is the tearing of the limbs from the torso, exposed wiring and artificial veins. The different forces used, a kind of saw used to separate the larger parts (cuts at the most proximal limb separation lines) whereas there is bluntforce trauma visible in notifying areas such as the head (specifically face) and hands.

Extreme aggression visible in the violent dismemberment, slamming one of the arms back into the shoulder socket to crunch them together. A kind of sick reunification, putting the broken parts back together as if to say the killer wanted to fix the victim.

The stomach is exposed, no false skin or clothing but the Lieutenant’s name carved into the only flat and pristine part left of the body. The contrast says this was the only message the killer was trying to send. The only thing that mattered enough to postpone the killer’s rage and bloodlust.

Bullet wounds in the legs, two bullets still present in the body. The android was stopped from escaping. It cannot feel pain, there is no point in torture. Most obviously, most of the violence appears to be post mortem, lack of fracturing or stress from attempting to use the injured limbs even as a reflex.

Connor kneels on the ground beside the picnic table, removing his false skin on his hands to gently prod an exposed nest of wires that he can estimate (correctly) to be the center of the chest. He pushes up one of his sleeves, before carefully inserting one of his fingers into the body, finding what he was looking for. Grabbing the small container Connor twists, and removes a vial of thirium.

 

“Why’d they keep a bit of blood?” One of the investigators mumbles.

“They knew.” Connor looks up at Hank, who holds his shoulders tight and his mouth in a grim line. Connor returns his gaze to the vial, slowly opening the glass and rubbing his finger along the interior. He brings the thirium to his lips, running his tongue quickly over the sample and feeling his sensors flash. If he were looking he’d see ___ step from behind him, close to Hank taking his hand in her own.

“Hank, it’s Unova.” Connor says, “It’s distressing to say the least but we have a lead now.”

“At the cost of another fuckin’ life.” Hank swears under his breath.

“Connor’s right. Nothing we can do now. Move forward.” Noah is standing off to the side, arms crossed and not paying attention to the three.

“Still as heartless as ever.” Hank spits back.

 

“Alright, so that explains the message at least.” ___ says, Connor sees her gives Hank’s hand a squeeze before she moves again to kneel next to him.

“Right.” He replies, making eye contact with ___. The moment feels strangely intimate as Connor listens to the woman talk.

“Carnegie knows we’re onto him.” _We’re_ , the word makes the defensive side of Connor rear its head, looking at ___ as she talks. “He killed Unova to show us that. I think it’s fair to assume he’s going to come after us.”

“How d’you know this is whoever Carnegie is?” Noah asks, uncrossing her arms to walk over to the other side of the table. She shoos away the two investigators, putting her hands on the table and looming over the pair and body.

“Message to the Lieutenant after our interjection into part of his ring, and extraction of incriminating evidence on him.” Connor looks up at her and speaks.

“Circumstantial.” Noah says flatly.

“Aggression towards an android that Carnegie created, with long running documentation that Carnegie is anti-android, holding a sadistic interest in his previously owned modifications and retaking what he believed belonged to him by any means necessary; regardless of whether that taking is kidnapping, murder, or torture as he is capable of, or capable of hiring anyone to do any of the acts, documented by the information we found yesterday.” Connor’s voice comes out a million words a minute, his LED whirs a brief yellow as he stares down Noah. She blinks and tilts her head slightly.

“Better, there you go.” Noah points at Connor, returning to her standing position. “But you’re not using what you’ve got here.”

“Fingerprints? Weapon identification prints or patterns?” ___ asks, standing and looking over the body.

“Bullets.” Connor breathes, “Noah’s right, if the bullets in Unova’s legs are salvageable then we can match them to the three I incurred while protecting them.” He stands next, looking at what remains of the limbs, panels removed or dented.

“If you were holding them- how you were holding them could prove or disprove if they could have been shot at the first contact.” ___ stumbles over her words just slightly, twirling a loc of her hair and stepping away from the body. She blinks her eyes a few too many times, and coughs into her scarf quietly.

Corporal Noah smiles, a lopsided smirk and nods. “There it is.”

 

“You already fuckin’ figured it out huh?” Hank has moved away from the scene, watching the rain fall and drip from the canopy.

“Not a behavioral analysis specialist for nothing Anderson.”

“Behavioral analysis? Impressive.” ___ says, looking up at Noah. The woman in turn smiles again, giving a small nod.

“Great for manipulating people.”

“Anyway, we should get pictures, and have one of your men bring the body to 8-06. We can investigate the finite details there with a coroner.”

“You got an android coroner?”

“Somewhere. Can’t expect us to do fuckin’ everything around the place.” Hank rubs his forearms through his coat and jerks his chin towards the picnic table. “Anything else you can give us?”

“Some advice; don’t get yourself killed. The R.I force already misses you, no need to make it permanent.”

Hank waves his hand, “Yeah yeah. Connor, you take some pictures?”

“I took a few during my investigation but I had best take more.” Connor opens his menus, cycling through to capture video and images of the scene. Closeups of wounds, the writing, his eyes trail up and down the body slowly, and he feels a crawling sense of dread worm through him. The conversation behind him barely registers over his work.

 

“Uh… Hank, anything you need me to do? Haven’t had the chance to do much.”

“I guess for now you’re the chauffeur. If the rest of the day goes calm then there shouldn’t be a need for any of us to spend time away from the data.” The Lieutenant’s voice is miffed, but fond as he addresses ___. It’s comforting, knowing Hank is looking after her too. Connor gives his respects to the Corporal and the two investigators (giving them instructions on how to get the body to 8-06 and carefully and depositing the thirium vial in an evidence bag Noah pockets) as Hank and ___ give their own goodbyes.

Noah wishes all three of them safe travels and promptly kicks them off of her crime scene.

 

The car ride back to the precinct is quiet, the rain still echoes through the car as Connor talks idly with ___ and Hank. Nobody mentions Unova, something Connor is grateful for. Nobody mentions Carnegie, or the threat. Also something he is grateful for. He still thinks of the dangers. His mind flashes up the image of his warnings from the scrapper incident, followed quickly by ___’s sentence. _“Carnegie knows_ **_we’re_ ** _onto him.”_ He feels his LED flick to yellow, his mind computing possibilities.

Worry. He’s afraid of putting ___ in danger. Not only because of what ___ means to the Lieutenant, but because of what she means to him. He’s worried. That’s to be expected of friends, correct? The warmth he feels in his chest, happiness when he looks at her. The kindness and light she brings into a room, her snarky comments that never cease to make him smile. The defense he feels, the worry, the joy, it’s natural to feel this way with friends. But, the flirting? _Were_ you flirting? Could he even-? Markus and Simon, they felt love. Could he? He felt love, familial-, was this what he was feeling? Was he just feeling a bond grow between them?

He was trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together without knowing what image the puzzle would make. Cover a canvas without any paint. Fill a hole in his heart he didn’t even know was there.

He wanted something to be there, he felt something there. He thought of her voice, kind and soft when she needed him. He thought of her hands, always careful and warning. Hands he realized, that were now entwined with his. Her thumbs rub over the back of his hands, and he realizes ___ is talking.

 

“Hey, there you are.”

Connor blinks, and blinks again as his eyes focus. He looks up from the car window where he had lost himself, over to ___ in the driver's seat. When had the car pulled over? They were parked along the side of the highway, faint sound of cars and other transportation whizzing by.

“Talk to me Con, use your words.”

His voice starts up, prepared to spill out factual information about his processing power and how nothing will interfere with his mission when he speaks exactly the opposite. “I’m, a touch overwhelmed.” He says quietly.

“That’s okay.” ___ replies, still holding his hands in hers. “You’re feeling.”

“How do you ever get used to it?” He smiles weakly.

“You don’t.” Hank’s voice is surprisingly solemn from the back of the car.

“Grump’s right. But take it easy alright?” ___ looks at him, his eyes meet hers and he believes her.

“I will.”

“Good. I’m gonna get back to driving, turn on the radio if you’d like.” ___ says, her voice rough as she adjusts her scarf to hug her neck and chin. After a couple of seconds she turns the keys in the ignition, and the car returns on its trip back to 8-06.

* * *

 

The rest of the day is largely uneventful. Connor catalogs and backtracks information, Hank and ___ take a meal break after a few hours. Connor continually checks her health statuses. Hanks mood gradually depletes and ___’s coughs becoming more frequent. He carefully lays a cup of [drink] on ___’s desk in a small break, a gesture that seems to mean the world to her. She smiles and thanks him, still bundled up in her coat and scarf.

“If I may, detective.”

“Again, it’s ___-” She corrects, “What’s up?”

“Where did you get the jacket and scarf?”

“Oh, Audine let me raid the lost and found.” She replies, taking a deep inhale of the [drink] aroma. “Found the tackiest stuff I could, love the way they look.”

“Oh. I don’t quite understand fashion…”

“Well if you’re gonna get clothes we should figure out what you like.” She says, taking a sip of her drink.

“You dress well,” Connor says.

“Well yeah, cause I have a job. Gotta be practical. At home I’m just either in my pjs or the tackiest shit you can imagine.”

“If I couldn’t see the resemblance between you and Hank before, I sure can now.” He says, raising his eyebrows and pushing his hands in his pockets. ___ nearly chokes on a sip of her drink, setting the cup down and all but wheezing in laughter.

“I get it though, it’s a thing for dudes like dad. Reclaiming the button up.” She says, not even realizing her calling Hank _dad_. Connor keeps his expression calm and nods. “I can’t imagine you in something like that though. The ‘tacky-till-its-chic’ style doesn’t really seem like you, to me.”

“Well you’ll have to give me an extensive dress evaluation when we get the chance.” Connor smiles, feeling like just having the conversation was a distraction from his crushing work.

“Oh I’ll grill you, don’t worry. I gotta find you a shirt without a collar, maybe one without sleeves.” She says, again drinking her drink and pulling her notepad back in front of her.

* * *

 

The work is unsettling, but idle. Research, analysis, failed connections and purposely destroyed or corrupted files. He feels the information pile up at his feet as Connor sifts through the DPD servers, catalogs on catalogs, mysterious calls and forged praises of Carnegie and men like him.

He sighs, again connecting to his own body and feeling his consciousness settle.

“Anything?” Hank’s voice is gruff, laden with exhaustion. The man is seated next to him, half laying on his desk, face on top of a holopad that he’s poured over time and time again.

“Nothing new.” Connor replies, “I think it would be in your best interest to call it a night however.”

“Yeah. Got plans for tonight.” Hank says, standing up and cracking his back with more than one wince.

“You go ahead and visit him, I’ll stay here and wrap up what I’ve got.” ___ calls out from her desk, barely looking up.

Hank grumbles something Connor and ___ both recognize as a reply, and Hank disappears for just a moment to grab a coffee before heading out for the night. Connor instead watches him go, and walks to ___’s desk.

 

“Mm?” ___ doesn’t look up from her work, prompting Connor to tap on her desk.

“We’ll be, well it should be obvious.”

“Yeah, I know. You guys won’t get reception out in the graveyard, he’s pretty deep in there. I’ll text you guys when I finish though.”

“And when you get home?” Connor asks, “Both the Lieutenant and I would like to know when you’ve gotten home safely.”

“God, blood of the covenant and all.” ___ murmurs fondly, and Connor can’t tell if the warmth on her cheeks is blush, or if she was coming down with a fever. “Yeah, I will. Can you make sure Hank’s not alone tonight? Keep all the dangers away?” She looks back down at her pads and notes, before rubbing her eyes.

“Of course. Take it easy ___,” Connor finishes, giving her one final smile before returning to the main hallway, where Hank appears with a coffee cup in his hands.

 

“Car should be fixed in a few days. Told me they made progress.” Hank says, taking a sip of his drink.

“Good to hear.” Connor says, “Are you safe to drive to the cemetery?”

“Yeah son, I’m fine.” Hank breathes, giving ___ a brief wave before leaving the station.

* * *

 

It is not the first time Connor visits Cole, but it is the first time Hank speaks while they’re there. The rain has stopped for the night, the chill of night and that of winter seep into the ground, threatening to freeze the dew.

“I think he’d be a lot like you.” Hank says, staring down at the gravestone. Connor can see Hank’s reflection in the polished stone, see the tears running down his cheeks.

“Thank you.” Connor replies, taking Hank’s hand in his own and looking down at the stone. “I’m honored.”

* * *

 

You crack your neck, falling face first onto your pile of papers, groaning loud and unabashed.

“Sunshine, you’ll raise the dead with that kinda yell.” Audine says, already dressed down from their uniform. They walk towards you, taking the chair at Zuri’s desk opposite yours.

“May they come back to the world, and eat the rich.” You grumble, pushing up from your desk. “I’m done for the night, ready to head back?”

“If you are, then yeah.” They say, spinning around in Zuri’s chair. “You wanna return the goods tomorrow?”

“Yeah, don’t wanna freeze to death. Here’s hoping my karmic balance can hold off on my divine punishment for borrowing from the lost and found.” You grab your bag (you send a quick text to Connor and one to Hank, brief messages where you may misspell a word or two, your eyes hurt looking at the screen) and lock up your pads and notes in your desk. Audine talks to you idly about some of the shit they had to deal with while you were trapped in the car for hours. You joke as you leave the department, you talk and it feels right. They listen to you, you listen to them, when you reach the crosswalk and find the light red, you look over at them.

 

“Hey.”

“Hey?” They echo, adjusting the purple bandana wrapped around their head.

“Mind if I talk a few things at you? Or well first I wanna talk with you and actually get responses.” You ask, nestling further in your scarf. You sniffle, feeling your head throb.

“Sure, if it’ll help. Is it work? Or play?” They say smugly, making you reach out and sock them in the arm.

“Maybe it’s a bit of both. What do you know about the uprising?” You ask, feeling your voice grow that familiar growl as hard as you try to keep it normal.

“I was freed by Markus, I was outside the department when he walked by, taking me by the elbow and unlocking me. So I guess a fair bit?”

“And, how soon after you were deviant did you start feeling human emotions?”

“Oh almost immediately, first was confusion, distrust, anxiety, fear, anger, sadness, it came in a damn mean circle right away.” They say. “Love came a bit later. Gotta learn to love yourself right?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” You reply, watching cars whiz by.

“You curious about Connor still?”

“Can you blame me? I’m just… god I feel like an asshole about catching this kinda stuff.”

“Hey, least you treat him like a person. Had to fend off a few people who were a bit too interested in a bit too wrong of a way before.”

“Gross!” You turn to meet eyes with them, before seeing the crosswalk turn green. You start walking as Audine replies. You feel the headache from earlier make itself known, cotton worming through your eye sockets and into your head space.

“I know! But you’re actually real with him. And from what I can see, he’s real with you.”

“I sure hope he is.” You murmur to yourself, reaching the other side of the crosswalk. “And I’m probably gonna pace a bit, talk about the case. You of course... (You pause to take a breath, why were you so out of breath?) ...won’t hear anything.” You say, looking over your shoulder just briefly before starting up your stairs and grabbing your keys from your coat pocket. Your hands shake as you fumble to get the key in the lock, and when you do you realize how shitty you feel. It settles on your shoulders as you step into your apartment, it fills your chest as you take off your borrowed coat.

 

“Okay. I… I take it back. I think...  I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Woah, that hit you like a train.” Audine says, offering a hand at your side.

“I’ve been, drinking tea and it helps me-” You cough, a nasty sound that shakes your chest.

“You go up to bed. I’ll find some nyquil and you can probably be a little late to work tomorrow.” Audine dotes on you for a few seconds before you go up the stairs. You get of your work pants, leaving your shirt halfway buttoned as you crawl into bed. Ah, your bed. You’ve missed it so. Hank’s couch is nice and all, but goddamn does a soft pillow feel good, and your blanket nestle just right around you.

Audine appears in your room after a few minutes (it doesn’t feel like it) and you obediently take your nyquil. It upsets your stomach, but you’re too tired to really notice or care.

* * *

 

Waking up you feel vaguely human again, you don’t know what time it is based on how you’re also not sure where your phone is. You sit up, rubbing your forehead and doing your best to stretch the _ache_ out of your every muscle.

“Audine!” You hoarsely cry, the android popping their head through your doorway.

“Hm?”

“Come here and take my temperature.” You say.

“You shouldn’t go in if you’re above a hundred.” They say, spinning their hand and approaching the bed, sitting next to you and deactivating their false skin.

“Thanks guardian, you gonna sign my permission slip for the field trip while you’re here?” You tease, relishing the cool of their hand against your forehead.

“Shut up you. You’re not there yet, ninety nine.” They say, putting the hand on your shoulder. “Slept a fair bit, if you stick to desk work today I could let you go in.”

“Not even a real fever! And you can’t hold me hostage in my own house!” You grumble, rubbing your eyes.

“I’d like to see you try and stop me.” Audine hums, standing up from your bed. “I can’t cook for shit sunshine, but I’ll see what I can find. You wanna get a shower?”

“I haven’t in a while, probably be good.” You grumble in reply, schlepping yourself to the bathroom.

 

The water is hot, it eases your throat and helps you cough up some mucous. You wash your hair, clean yourself up, and when you’re done you still stand in the hot room for a few minutes. You dry off, change, and take a few final deep breaths of the hot air before you turn on the fan.

Alright, Audine was right. The shower really helped, you feel much more human. Coming out of the bathroom you hear the doorbell ring, followed by Audine’s leisurely footsteps.

Towel drying your hair to the best of your ability you hang it up to dry and leave your room.

“Uhm, is ___ here?” Somebody at the door asks.

“Yes she’s-” Audine starts, before you yell down the stairs.

“Who’s there?” You voice isn’t the smoothest, but as you descend the stairs Audine pulls the door open all the way to reveal your guest.

 

Connor’s eyes light up he sees you, and he gives a small wave.

“Oh, Con! What’s up?” You ask, leaning on the handrail once you reach the main floor.

“The- Hank and I were worried about you. You never sent that home safe text, and-” He blinks, “You’re usually at the precinct about two hours ago.”

“Shit, sorry. I wasn’t feeling too hot and I took some cold meds, I was out like a light.”

“You’re sure you’re alright?” He asks, eyes filled to the brim again with that _concern_ that makes your chest ache.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m gonna take something and then be right on my way.”

“Well watch out, Hank and I sent you numerous messages.”

“Yeah, that I can believe. Probably blew my phone up to high hell.” You say, retreating into the kitchen to grab a protein bar and pill pocket of daytime cold meds. “Here, lemme grab my borrowed coat and you can _walk_ _me_ to work.”

“Are you sure you’re well enough to be in today?”

“It’s my what, second or third day back on the force?”

“Fair point but-"

“Here, here.” You grab the bottle of liquid dayquil, also dropping it in your bag. “And I’ll keep up my drinks they help with my throat. Happy?”

“Worry.” He replies, when you look at him his eyebrows are creased and pout on his lips. Both you and Audine laugh at that, you slide on a pair of flats and flash a peace sign before putting your hand on Connor’s arm.

“Yeah, I understand. You’re gonna keep an eye on me right?” You say, without even really knowing it.

“I promised. We’re in this together now.” He says softly, making you pause. “I’ll be here for you, no matter what.” The sincerity in his voice makes your heart stutter.

 

“See you two there.” Audine says, closing the door behind them without a pause.

You jump at the noise, Connor also seemingly pulled from some kind of thought at their sudden departure.

“Uhm- they’re… they’re right, we really should get going since I’m technically late already-” your words won’t come out and then all of the sudden they’re spilling out in a rush.

“Yes, let’s head to the precinct.” Connor says, adjusting his pristine jacket and getting the door for you.

The cold air irritates your sore throat, but you manage just fine. Connor walks with you almost pressed to your side after you lock your door and descend the steps. The rain has stopped for the time being, and there’s no snow yet, thankfully. Your deep breaths puff out the smallest wisps of fog, and you think you can see some steaming from Connor’s head.

“Simple day?”

“If no more bodies turn up, then there shouldn’t be any problems.” Connor replies, still looking dead ahead as he walks.

“Hey, Con?” You ask, making him blink and look down at you. “How’re you doing?”

“Oh, I think I’m doing alright.” He says, “The research may be idle but it’s safe.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who chased somebody across the rooftops of the whole damn city.” You laugh weakly, the two of you reaching the crosswalk.

“I suppose not knowing what fear was nearly landed me in quite a bit of trouble.” He retorts, “Now that I know, I’m not too fond of it.” He smiles cheekily when you look at him again, and you feel your chest bubble with laughter.

“I’m glad you’re managing alright.”

“And you?” He asks, tilting his head almost an exact forty five degrees that has your heart melt.

“Sick, but alright. You guys are making my move in a bit difficult, but better than spending all my time alone.” You cough after your thought, Connor holding up two fingers before rubbing his hand up and down your back. “Thanks.” Your voice is hoarse but you do you best to hold on until you get some [drink]. You press you balled fist against your sternum and hit it a few times in the vain hope of dislodging something.

“Here, you shouldn’t be pressing against your chest. Your windpipe is most likely under enough stress,” Connor makes eye contact with you and blinks twice before he takes your hand, gently unballing it. In the meantime, the crossing light turns green. “Oh! We can cross now!” Without even looking back at you Connor starts walking, his hand is still holding yours as he almost drags you into the crosswalk. He’s walking quickly, and you hold back for just a moment before you rush to follow him. As startled as you are you can’t help but smile, Connor is holding your hand and tugging you behind him like a determined dog.

You do make an undignified squeak as you two take off but you cross the street safely and after a few more seconds you stop to catch your breath again.

 

“Scared me Con,” You fix your dislodged scarf and stand at the now crossed corner (you think you see Connor look at your embarrassed smile before you hide it).

“My apologies, that was never my intent.” He bows just slightly, “I wanted to get us back to 8-06 at the next convenient opportunity.”

“Yeah yeah. Gotta check back in with dad-beard.” You roll your eyes, still smiling fondly. “How’s he doing? You guys…?” Your voice trails off, and you don’t fight it to bring up the emotions.

“We visited Cole last night,” Connor says, before starting to walk again. “I don’t wish to speak of Hank behind his back, his business is his business.”

“Yeah, is he okay though?” You don’t move to follow, and then you realize.

 

Connor never let go of your hand. He takes one step and pulls your arm forward before he slowly turns back to you.

“Struggling, but handling. I’ve been using some of my free time to find possible therapists.”

“Grief counselors?”

“Or psychiatrists.” Connor is still holding your hand, he rocks his head gently back and forth.

“I guess we’re all a little messed up, huh?” You say, you squeeze his hand.

“But we’re not alone.” Connor replies, smiling and squeezing your hand in response.

“We’re not alone.” You echo, starting to walk again. Connor walks next to you, still holding your hand. It’s a small moment, but you feel yourself just so grateful Hank has Connor, that you have Connor. You feel safe and comfortable with him, you want to be there for him in return.

 

“Connor, you know you don’t have to always be okay, right?” You swing your interlocked hands a little.

“I-...” His voice goes quiet, “I think you’re helping me learn. I appreciate all the help you’ve been giving me, explaining things.”

“Sometimes it’s just nice to know you’re not alone.”

“___, I won’t ever leave you alone if you need help.” He says, prompting you to look up at him. “Conversational analysis, some slight psychological baiting.”

“It’s not me, dummy. I don’t ever want to leave _you_ alone.”

His brows furrow, making you chuckle into your scarf. “You’ve never had anyone before, right? You didn’t exist until last year when you and Hank broke down each others walls. You were alone. Even if you didn’t feel it. And I know what that’s like. So I guess, I want to make sure you don’t have to struggle by yourself.”

He doesn’t respond, but that’s okay. You feel your heart flutter in your chest, but don’t rush to hide behind excuses. Being open with him feels right, feels safe. The honesty in the air is suffocating as Connor replies.

“I appreciate you ___, in the short time we’ve been together I feel as though we’ve grown quite close.”

“I’m glad, I think we get along well too.”

 

The front of the station is as homey as ever, inside the heating has been turned on and you take a few deep breaths. “Oh now this is better.”

“I’ll leave you to your research then?” He lets go of your hand, starting to walk towards his shared desk. Hank looks up, you give him a smile and wave in return. You take off the borrowed coat and scarf, quickly running them back to the lost and found.

“Connor, don’t forget to check on Hank’s posture.” You say as you part ways,

“Connor, don’t forget to tell ___ to shut her trap.” Hank says in return, glaring at you with  a playful edge.

“Now now, you’re both pretty.” Connor says, taking his seat. You and Hank both shoot him glares now, before letting the monotony of research take you away. It’s boring. Connor brings you a drink once and you take some medicine with it. Connor brings you a second one when you finish.

Yes it’s safe, yes you can look up and see Connor and Hank also safe,  yes you can take small breaks to quip with Connor or hit Hank’s back, but it’s boring.

It’s phenomenally boring.

Hours tick by like they’re on tranquilizers, you take notes and make small doodles on page corners to fill space. It’s not like you’re not used to it, you are. You’ve dealt with research heavy days before. You’ve done weeks worth of study to pass your tests, you’ve pulled all nighters. But it’s just… mundane. At some point you shiver, and again the Rk800 coat is draped over your shoulders. It feels right.

You find the same information over and over again, you find pieces of the puzzle that don’t match up, you find things that seem almost too ridiculous, you find thing like receipts for pizza delivery. It’s maddening!

 

It’s close to five when Connor approaches your desk, no notes in hand. You look up at him, setting down the holopad in your grip.

“What’s up?”

He’s flipping a coin through his fingers, the movement more agitated and shaky than normal. “I was hoping you could help me.”

“Feeling?”

He nods quickly, passing the coin from his left to his right hand.

“Alright,” You take a deep breath, before blowing your nose. “Okay there we go- Talk to me.”

Connor takes Zuri’s empty chair, rolling it closer to you. “I’m anxious, I think. Worried.” He stills his hands, before returning to the coin flipping.

“About what?”

“You and Hank. Myself. Henry. A lot.” He says, looking up at you.

“Tell me why.”

“The- The research as I’ve been putting it together. David Carnegie is ruthless and a threat, and soon we’ll have enough to take him in but we’ve already lost a life. I’m afraid of what may happen to my family or to other robots because we can’t find a way to legally take him in.”

“Okay, yeah it sounds like you’re anxious.”

“I can’t sit still, I can barely focus-”

“Hey, take some deep breaths.” You extend your hand, Connor staring at it before he holds it in his. “We’re trained for this kind of thing. We’re doing everything we can to get him as fast as we can. Do you want to take some time away from the case? Head over to Traffic for an afternoon?”

Connor shakes his head, “No, I want to do everything I can. But- It’s a lot.”

“Well take a break, you’ve earned it. Take care of yourself first.” You pat his hand with your free one, and smile. “You’re already doing a lot after all.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” He mumbles, letting go of your hand and returning to his seat beside Hank. Hank himself looks up and meets eyes with you, an unspoken question in the air.

_He okay?_

_Working on it._

 

The rest of the day is routine, you wrap up your desk work earlier than the night prior and end up going with Hank and Connor to pick up the fixed car. You really know you’re only tagging along to take the patrol car back to the station but it’s still nice hanging out with the boys outside of work. Hank nearly weeps when the mechanic pulls the old car out of the shop, you and Connor smile as he enjoys himself, getting inside, adjusting his seat, etc. Connor pays the gentleman and walks you back to the patrol car wile Hank is ‘fixing’ the mechanics interior adjustments.

“And you’re sure you’re feeling better?”

“Not completely, but somebody has been doting on me all day.” You smile, looking up at him and tucking some of your loose hair behind your ear. You still have his jacket on, that’s probably why you’re acting so-

“Cheeky.” He says, smiling in that gentle way that makes you sigh. He stops after a few seconds though, quickly looking down the lit up street.

“Con?”

He doesn’t respond right away, you see his LED flash yellow for a few moments while he scans down the way.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“...Nothing, I thought…” His voice fades in and fades out, he’s still peering down the street. “My detectors picked something up but nothing can be picked up now.”

“Wanna investigate? You’re not on the fritz, you just went and fixed up after you got- got shot.” Your voice catches for just a moment, the phrase meaning so much more now that you’re… attached… to Connor.

“No, it could be symptoms of paranoia.” Connor says, “Best not to feed into the loop.”

“For you, sure. And I won’t push you on it. Just for you though,” You wink up at him, and he laughs in return making your heart soar. “I’ll take the car back around to the station. Make sure Hank doesn’t wreck his fixed up car.” You take the keys from Connor’s hand, walking around to the drivers side of the patrol car. You don’t offer to give back his jacket, nor does he ask for it back. You’ll give it back tomorrow.

“Text me when you get home?” Connor asks,

“I will, promise.” You say, opening the door and dropping into the seat. The car starts up right away as you turn the key, and you give Connor a final wave before you take back off. It’s an easy drive, when you park the car you hand the keys back in. Audine is waiting by the DPD doorway, they wave you over on your way out.

 

“Hey there sunshine.” They flash you a peace sign, rubbing your shoulder as you get closer. “How was your day?”

“Boring, but safe,“ You breathe, puffing a small cloud of fog. “Cold as hell.” You observe starting your walk home with Audine.

“Yeah, temperatures dropping pretty quick for the time of year. We may get snow by the end of the month.”

“ _Fuck_ \- No thank you! I had enough snow on the east coast.” You whine, rubbing your arms as the two of you reach the crosswalk. “How was your day?”

They shrug, “Same old same old. See you’re still gettin’ along great with Connor.” They tap idly on the hard shell of the Rk800 jacket.

“Yeah, I am. And you’re still sticking your nose in my business.”

“Guilty as charged.” They hold out their wrists towards you, and you playfully push them away. “You feelin’ any better?”

“A bit, kinda just-” you sigh, and Audine smiles. The crosswalk turns green, and you idly talk more. You unlock the door, they set up shop on your couch, you make some quick food, and after some self care and a text to Connor you call it a night.

 

The next day you’re up at your normal time- still hefting around a pound of mucus in your lungs- and you get a shower before getting dressed with your warmest jacket (carrying Connor’s jacket instead of wearing it). You and Audine talk about what’s been going around in the office on the way there, and when you arrive you’re surprised to see you’re earlier than Hank and Connor.

A holopad is seated on their desk however, one addressed to the three of you. And as Audine heads off to grab their cart you pick it up. Swiping it open, you see it’s from Noah. Her handwriting is the first thing to pop up.

_After we took apart the body we found some more interesting damages. Pictures attached._

You swipe through the images, shrugging your shoulders. You didn’t know Unova, you can’t imagine this will be easy for Connor to see though. You drape his jacket over his chair and continue looking through the images. Body parts have been separated, dissected just enough to be clear.

“Sick ‘nd sad.” You mumble, zooming on on Hank’s name carved into the stomach plating. The carving isn’t smooth or clean, it’s definitely evocative and vicious. You feel your stomach writhe just slightly at the wave that hits again, knowing Hank is being targeted by David Carnegie, a man not above murder or torture.

You put the pad back down on the desk, rubbing your hands up and down your face. Time to get back to digging.

 

You take some cold medicine when you grab a snack from the vending machine, and a nice cup of [drink]. I helps clear your mind a bit, you feel a bit more human.

 

Hank and Connor walk in a couple hours later, you use them as an excuse to jump to your feet. You hug them both, saying hellos and how are you doings.

“What’s up sunshine? Find anything that’ll break the case?” Hank asks, throwing up two fingers before patting your head.

“No, not yet. I should be able to finish my part of the work today though.”

“Your fever has decreased as well,” Connor muses, before blinking. “Pardon me-”

Hank claps him on the shoulder and walks over to his desk. “C’mon Con. Leave her alone.”

“Good luck,” You say, holding your hand out. Connor drops his hand gently on yours, and nods. (He looks really good without the jacket, the shirt rumples just slightly, the tie isn’t clipped, you see him roll up his sleeves and hurriedly bury your nose in your work)

“What’s this?” Hank picks up the pad as you set back into your desk.

“Noah sent over some more photos, close ups. It’s pretty bad.” You don’t mention Connor, but Hank sees you glance towards him. He nods.

 

You drop one of the holopads, Connor nearly bolts over to pick up the dropped item and hand it to you. It isn’t really important, but you notice. It makes the both of you smile.

 

Connor is notably anxious again today, when you get close to your halfway point he stands at your desk again.

“Feelings?”

“Case.” He says, your eyes track down to the coin he’s flipping between his fingers before you look back up at him. “Case,” He gives a thin lipped smile.

“Alright, let’s go over what we got.”

“We were contacted by Unova. Unova got taken. Unova winds up dead.” Hank says, chewing on the end of his pen.

“Unova opened us to Carnegie, and was taken by two unknown subjects. After disappearing for a short span of time, their body was found nearly three hours from where they were taken initially. We haven’t focused on location, maybe that means something?”

“So Unova was in hiding?” You spin idly in your office chair.

Connor hums, “I think technically? They were in contact with other augmenteds such as Henry.”

“So if Carnegie could get into the mind of one, then he could reach all of them.” You murmur.

“Perhaps it’s a power trip. Attempting to show that Carnegie has power, like a threat. Same with the Lieutenant’s name being carved into the stomach.”

“ ‘cause he can take and dump all over the city.” Hank nods, putting his pen down. “So Carnegie is trying to show off?”

“Well we don’t know that, it could be a convenience option instead. Dumping the body away from the place he knows will have a police presence.”

“So he uses a high class neighborhood across the street from a church?” You ask.

Connor hums again, “You know who would be a much better reference if we want to understand the behaviors of Carnegie?”

“Noah.” You and he say, looking over to Hank.

He groans, “Fuckin’- _christ_. Fine, I’ll call her up. She’s got her own cases, her own precinct. Probably just a consultation and half a profile.”

“If we could get  psychological profile matching the m.o. of Unova’s killer to Carnegie, it would still be substantial.”

“Did Noah say how long it’d be on the casings? The ones they pulled from the vic’s legs?” You ask, turning back to the small pile of research on your desktop.

“No, not in this message. Another reason to call Ava huh.” Hank says, fumbling on his desk.

You look up at Connor, smiling as he returns the gesture. He’s still fidgeting with his coin, but much less intently now. It makes you feel a bit better.

 

You’ve got one more holopad left when you stand again, looking out the front door of the DPD and seeing the car headlights start to turn on. Another day gone.

“I’m gonna get some more [drink],” You say, coughing into your hand for a moment, “You guys want anything?”

“Get me some coffee.” Hank says.

“And a water.” Connor adds, Hank complaining under his breath as the android takes care of him.

The breakroom has a few people in it, you make idle chit chat as you make your drink. You set it down, and fiddle with the coffeemaker to get Hank’s. You talk with Tyson about his upcoming retirement, Gregg about his wife and kid on the way. You meet some officers who were hired after you left and before you made it, everyone is good. Tired, but kind. You squish a water bottle under your arm and carry a hot drink in each hand on the way out.

You set Hank’s coffee on the desk, and Connor grabs the water bottle from your side.

“Anything?” You ask, sitting on the edge with the least amount of objects near it.

“I’m findin’ the same shit. Or new shit that just contradicts old shit.” Hank holds his coffee in his hands, breathing in the aroma.

“I haven’t been able to come into contact with any of the other androids.” Connor says. “After the first encounter many have dropped off the net, or decided against corroborating with the police.”

“After Unova, I don’t blame them.” You mumble into your cup. You take a nice long sip and sigh. “Hank, you’re being careful right?”

He growls something like a question from his cup.

“Carnegie knows we’re onto him. He know who’s working the case enough to send a threat like that.” You continue, “He can find out some dangerous shit that way.”

“What, you sayin’ I need to go into wip for some shitty case against a rich guy?”

“Wip?” Connor asks, you look at him and see the screens behind his eyes flash. “Oh, Witness Protection.”

“Yeah, but no. I’m saying you need to go in but I’m saying you need to be fuckin’ careful.” You say, “He doesn’t care about humanity.”

Hank and Connor hum in affirmation, and you change the subject.

 

“I have off tomorrow.” You throw out, hoping at least one of them will too.

“Oh! I do as well.” Connor smiles, and you give yourself a sick mental high five.

“I’ve got plans,” Hank says, drinking his coffee.

“Ooh~” You wiggle your eyebrows at him before he chucks the water bottle at you (Connor intercepts it). “Con, you?”

“No, maybe we could... go shopping?” He looks up at you, and again he’s just got the air of comfort and kindness you know he was made to have.

“Fuck yeah dude! I will require you to steal one of Hank’s shirts though, your work look is nice but _please_ let me have at least one day where you don’t wear a button up.”

“If I remember correctly you want to get me into a shirt without a collar, you starting early?” He pulls up a few holographic projections, quickly going through shutting down windows and closing programs for the evening.  

“Hank- Connor in a tank top.”

He doesn’t hesitate in responding, “Cursed image. Get away from me.”

“Forbidden knowledge!” You say in return, already starting to laugh.

“I do not understand.” Connor murmurs.

* * *

 

You and Connor decide to head to the Tower Center Mall the next day, you meet up outside the large building. You’ve decided to dress down, comfort above all else. You step off the bus ten minutes early to your appointed time, only to see Connor already seated on a bench, overlooking the parking lot.

“Hey! Connor!” You cheer, walking over to him. His hair is much more curly than usual, it’s loose and floppy in the cold breeze. He stands from his seat and you look him over. He’s in what you can only assume is a pair of Hank’s jeans, but still wearing his dress shoes. An old battered tee (the front of the logo says something like _Kepler West Virginia_ with a bigfoot on it) that doesn’t suit him at all brings the mess together.

“Wow, you look _so_ uncomfortable,” You wheeze, before delving into a brief coughing fit.

“I uh, well I had no real choice in the matter. I requested Hank’s help in what to wear, and he provided old clothes he no longer wears frequently. It, very much doesn’t suit me, huh?” He gives a lopsided smile, and you pat his arm.

“Not at all, let’s find you something that’s more you.”

 

The first place you stop is a general department store, you and Connor browse the men’s section together. You suggest shorts, he shakes his head. He picks up a grey button up, you nearly (playfully) smack it out of his hand. You both laugh the entire time. Connor shows some preferences for cooler colors and you take note, you find some plain tee shirts that aren’t too crazy, but aren’t plain white.

Connor tries them on, and does a small fashion show for you.

He’s smiling, bright and hopeful when he comes out at the end. Checkout is quick, Connor pays, and you talk about what other stores there are in the mall. You find a specialty men's store and Connor nearly drags you in. It’s upscale, to say the least. Put together outfits, tasteful, clean. Connor seems to be having a field day, an associate approaches and helps guide him to the chinos section.

You hear the associate speaking, ”You seem to be a man of fine taste- _no matter what your current outfit may say_ -chinos are a great bridge between dress pants and casual wear-” and you smile.

 

“Your husband?” Another associate says, approaching you from the side.

“Oh, no- we’re just friends.” You say, hoping your brief stutter wasn’t too obvious.

“Getting him fixed up for any reason?” You look over, the associate turning out to be an android with a kind smile.

“No, I’m actually trying to get him to dress down a bit.” You laugh, they chuckle too. “He has to dress formal for work, and he doesn’t really have clothes outside of that. He’s wearing his roommates stuff now.”

“I hope you two find something to agree on then.” She smiles, “If you have any questions give me a call.”

“Will do, thanks.” You turn back towards the chino section and walk over, Connor dutifully scanning each and every pair in front of him. “Any luck?”

“I know my exact measurements, but I am unsure of my size, does- does that make sense?”

“You don’t know how they’ll fit, I get it. Oh believe me I get it. What’s your waist measurement? We can get a range.”

“My waist measure thirty six inches.” He says, “So perhaps thirty five to thirty seven?”

“And your leg length?”

“My entire leg measures approximately two feet and seven inches. Approximately thirty one inches.”

“So you’re somewhere in here,” You say, grabbing a few options from the rack and laying them over Connor’s forearm. “Find which one fits, and from there we can get more.”

Connor nods, taking off for the dressing room.

You let him go for a while, you don’t bother him to show you everything while tries to find a pair of pants that fits (and weren’t made especially for him). He comes out and finds you while you’re browsing some patterned button ups.

“See something you like ___?” He smiles, waving his hand in front of his chest before reaching out and gently holding your bicep. It feels nice, him just being close.

“Hm, not really. But I’m not sure if I’m looking for you or Hank, and that’s quite the style gap.” You say, running your fingers across the shoulders of some shirts, stopping on a pale pink one with a small embroidered flamingo on the cuff. “See what I mean?”

He huffs a laugh, and nods. “I do see what you mean. Anything else you’d like to look at in here? I’m more than happy just finding nice pants.”

“Oh yes, we,” you tap him on the shoulder, stepping away and giving a twirl, “are going to the nearest edgy teen store. I wanna get you a band tee. Cut up tank top. Distressed denim. Mesh! _And_ before this day is out I’m gonna take you _thrifting_ -” You’re smiling as Connor nods, enthusiasm lighting up on his face too.

“Alright- no promises on all of those-”

“Oh it’s gonna happen roboboy. I won’t drop two hundred on pants for you, but I will buy you the real good stuff-” You swing your arms, motioning him back to the check out. It’s more so something to do with your hands, let out some excited energy, but Connor follows along.

 

He has two bags in the crook of his elbow as you two leave, you meld into the crowds as you talk about the next store on the list. You narrowly avoiding bumping into people in the busy pathways, Connor seems to be run into somebody behind him. He seems alright, but then he tenses up about halfway to the gritty teen store, he misses a joke and stops walking.

“Connor, you alright?”

“I’m going to take your hand.” He says quietly (you have to lean in to catch it) and you nod. His hand is chilly, but his grip is tight. “Something is wrong.” Parents and families walk around you in the middle of the walkway, and you start talking.

“Alright, let’s get you outta this big busy room, alright? I’m gonna start walking and you’re gonna follow me. We can find a bench outside a-a holiday card shop or something, those are always empty.” You slowly start walking, leading Connor by the hand away from currents of people. Down an offshoot, and then down another you find near emptiness. “Connor, use your words.”

“Anxious,” he breathes, looking up from the ground at you. You look in return, the light blush on his cheeks, dilating and shaking of his eyes, his minute hand twitching, LED red.

“Overwhelmed?”

He nods shakily, “I tried relaxing, not focusing on my scanners but something touched me-” You make a mental note at the way his mouth snaps violently shut. Touch isn’t a great feeling for him either. “I didn’t think it was- I was starting to get interference in my scanner. When it didn’t react properly I began attempting to circumvent it, find whatever threat had identified and incapacitated it, I mustn’t let anything happen to you-” He’s rambling until you pat his hand.

“Can you turn around? I’ll look at your back.”

He nods again, letting go of you to rotate.

“Connor, are you magnetic?” You ask, looking down to barely hold back a smile.

“Parts of me are indeed magnetic, finer components when in relation to my scanner and mainframe; my servos must be magnetised to move without friction.”

“Well, here’s your problem. Warning,” You say, reaching to his lower back and removing the problem. It’s a small child’s magnet, usually part of a toy or magnetic letter set. A plastic letter ‘U’ rests in your hand as you walk around to Connor’s front. “This was stuck to your back.” You say, motioning for Connor to extend his own hand. You press it into his palm and smile weakly.

He nudges the plastic around with his thumb. “Oh.”

“You’re not wearing your jacket, does that usually help things like this? Maybe a threadbare tee shirt with sasquatch on it isn’t as good protection.” You say.

Connor nods, you can see his eyes unfocus and hear his systems whirr. “I am no longer picking up indicat-” he blinks, looking at you. “Thank you. That probably should have been my first thought. I appreciate you helping me.” His hand closes around the letter, and he runs a hand through his curls. “I’d still really like to keep shopping, my anxiety acting up shouldn’t ruin our- hang out.” He says, you notice the way he attempts to flip the letter through his fingers at the end of his thought, dropping it to the floor.

“You’ve been anxious and worried a lot lately. Connor are you sure you’re okay?” You bend down to pick up the letter and hold it this time.

“The case is a lot, and you... I’m beginning to be saddled with- unnecessary... feelings.” He rubs the arm holding his bags. “A lot all at once. And then I’ve been trying to keep an eye out for you and the Lieutenant, you’re only human and I can’t imagine something bad happening, I’m stretching myself a bit too thin and…”

“Yeah, you’re getting used to feeling.” You smile softly. “I’m right here though, okay? I’m not gonna let you drown.” He nods, looking away. _Did you say something wrong?_ “Will you be okay if we go back to the populated areas? Or do you want more time to breathe.”

“Breathe.”

“Let’s breathe then.”

 

You two take a seat on a bench nearby, watching the few people walk by the less mainstream stores. You two don’t talk much, and it’s not necessarily awkward, but you feel something itching in your hands at the thought you said something wrong.

You’re interrupted from your break when your stomach growls, almost echoing in your silence.

“Hungry?” Connor asks, smiling softly.

“Ready to go?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes.” You stand, offering a hand to Connor as he stands. You two hold hands as you walk to the food court. Connor analyzes the different scents in the air, explaining what unique factor of each restaurant contributes their certain smell. You punch him in the shoulder and call him a nerd. You grab a quick bite to eat and chow down, you see Connor start to dissolve into his scans and you wrap your arm around his. You just want to be a constant, something to let him know everything is okay.

“So,” You say, throwing your trash into a bin and releasing Connor from your grasp. (It felt really nice being close to him, being safe and making him feel safe. But of course you don’t say that) “Now you have to wear what I tell you.”

“Oh, I reserve the fact to turn down what I please.” He says, adjusting his bags. You see him smile, a calmed and coherent one that makes you feel good.

“I revoke that privilege, let’s go get you in some _fishnets_ -”

You play argue the entire walk to the storefront, when you go in Connor all but gawks at the walls lined with band tees, jewelry cases, and jackets. You browse around a bit, Connor looks so sorely out of place he follows you like a lost puppy. You do end up pushing him into a changing stall, throwing a pair of pants, a tank top, and a distressed flannel in after him.

 

He emerges, again with that lost puppy expression but this time you’re more distracted by his body. Wow. _Wow_. The flannel sleeves are rolled, up, front open and barely pulled over his shoulders. The black tank fits him just right, shoving off his freckled and smooth skin usually hidden by layers. And. Uh. Connor does a cursory spin, and you have never seen skinny jeans look so good on anyone in your life.

“I appreciate the notion,” He’s talking, and you can barely hear it over your own gawking. “I’m quite sure it’s me, but-” He looks over at you, and you can barely find words.

“It uh-... It looks real. Good I mean, uh- it looks real good.”

“Oh, this seems to be the type of styling you find favorable.” He says, smiling (although you wouldn't call it innocent).

“I resent that statement.” You say, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Well I see no problem in letting you buy these things for me, some variety is better than none. Although no promise I’ll wear them frequently.” He walks back in front of the full body mirror, turning and looking over himself.

“They do look good, go ahead and change and we can find the next store.” You wave your hand, desperate to calm the wobble you feel growing in your voice. _It’s not his style but he’s so considerate he’ll try things because he knows you like them-_ He disappears back into the stall and you breathe a heavy sigh.

“That your boyfriend?” One of the representatives asks, adjusting their headband.

“No, he’s my friend- We’re just out together. Not like a date or- uh- I mean- not that-” You bury your face in your hands and groan.

“You’re fine hon, checking out together?”

“Yeah, just his stuff, I’m paying.”

“Cash or Credit?”

Connor truthfully spends longer in the changing room than he needs to. It’s… intriguing. He knows what ___ finds attractive, her preference. It’s something personal, more than her own taste. He thinks for the time he spends changing back into Hank’s clothes, about her.

She’s so nice and gentle and careful, she listens and takes care of him and he wants to do the same for her. Is that love? He doesn’t feel this way about Hank or Sumo or Cole, he wants to laugh and hold ___’s hand and tell her that everything is going to be okay because they’re together. He wants to wrap her up in his arms and kiss her and believe that things can only go up from here. They’re just- not necessary feelings. ___ shows the typical signs of being infatuated, her blush, her awkward flirting, but what if Connor’s trying too hard? Reading too much into things? Different social cues mean different things for different people. This is some kind of sick hope, he realizes pulling the Kepler shirt back over his head. What is love? How is he supposed to know that this is right and not some misprogramming, or an error? Is he sure? He feels it, but how can he trust himself when he’s only been alive about a year? And what about ___’s feelings? He can’t hurt her, what if he gets fixed and love isn’t in his capacity, what if he can’t do it?

 

She knocks on the changing room door and Connor jumps.

“Hey, you alright?” She asks, her voice sounds as if she’s returned to her calm state. “Get strangled by a loose pair of fishnets?”

“I am- I’m okay. Be right out.” He says, patting his chest and digging in his jeans to pull out his coin (he rubs his thumb over it and puts it back). He pushes the door open, clothes in his arm and looks around briefly before spotting ___ at the register. She gestures him over, and he follows. She buys, makes idle chit chat with the cashier, she’s interrupted just briefly by coughs.

Connor does another scan of her, registering still low body temperature and a chemical imbalance in her brain. Symptom diagnosis says mild cold with headache. As they leave Connor takes the bag from her grip, his own hands now filled with bags.

“Hey, what’s up?” She asks.

“You are still ill, I was distracted, but I am aware now.” He says, punctuating his statement with a nod. “Did you take your medicine this morning?”

“I didn’t wanna be late,” She says, voice dying down. “Yeah, I’m not really feeling much better.” She breathes. “Guess I did go a bit overboard today, huh?”

“Let’s get you home.” Connor smiles, letting her lean on his arm as they walk.

 

“I do not have my jacket with me today,” He thinks out loud at the bus stop.

“Kinda glad, kinda not.” ___ muses, “It’s very you but I also like this real you.”

“I don’t have anything to offer to keep you warm.” He replies, looking at her.

“I like you even when I don’t get to steal your clothes dummy.” ___ smiles, still leaning on his arm and threading her own around his.

Connor nods weakly.

* * *

 

On the bus ___ takes the window seat, and Connor sits in the aisle seat. He tries to strike up idle conversation when his scanner picks up a half match to David Carnegie. His LED whirrs, he stares forwards as he begins scanning the entire bus. A man seated in the back of the bus has a history with Cyberlife, a woman nearby has the same bloodtype, others meet bits and pieces, nothing is conclusive but the notification labelled ‘ _MATCH- Carnegie_ ’ popping up is more than enough to set him on edge. He goes through folder after folder in his system, accessing personal databases, public government files, he feels his breathing stop but keeps going.

Nothing can happen to ___, where is Carnegie, he doesn’t have a weapon, ___ isn’t armed, _nothing can go wrong, he has to protect ___-_

___places her hand on his arm. “Hey, Con?” Her voice is gravelly, she sounds sick. Has she been talking long? “You went yellow, what’s goin’ on?”

“I- I received a match to a search function I set up. It was a partial. I got- s-... scared. Tried to do everything I could to find out what could possibly go wrong.” His voice catches in his throat even though there’s no reason it should.

“Hey, there are a lot of people in Detroit, of course you got a partial match. Try and refine it a bit, I know having it up makes you feel better but you’ll burn yourself out.” She makes sense, she knows what she’s talking about.

“I just- I want to make sure you and Hank are safe. I don’t want there to be dangers when I’m around.”

“And we’re big grown ups. We can handle ourselves.” She smiles weakly, sitting up from leaning on his shoulder. “We gotta take care ‘a you too Connor.”

He nods.

 

They arrive at her stop at three thirty pm, ___ gets off first and Connor follows. A few others get off too, and Connor pretends not to notice the exact number of people.

“Do you like weighted things? Like your jacket?” ___ asks, starting back towards her street. “Heavy, safe, strong, warm. That kinda thing.”

“The sensation of weight is nice, yes. Perhaps some kind of weighted blanket may be nice? Although I do not sleep.”

“If it makes you feel good then there’s no reason you shouldn’t have it.” She says, taking his hand. “You don’t need a prescription to have something that makes you feel nice.” She smiles again and Connor feels his chest warm.

“I blame you and Hank for that one.” He smiles, “Hugs are a dangerous thing.”

“Hugs are the only thing the human race has done right.” she says, smiling wide again. Connor chuckles, a grin splitting his face too. She makes it up the stairs to her door, and Connor follows. He stops just before stepping inside, he hesitantly glances up and down the street before looking at your neighbor’s doorstep. A small potted plant is seated outside, only just beginning to wilt in the cold weather.

Forget me nots.

He steps inside and closes the door behind himself.

 

___ is bumbling around her main area idly, she drags her feet and scratches at her scalp as she throws snacks and water bottles into her arms. Connor places his bags on the floor in the common room and watches her until she opens the fridge.

“Rest.” Connor says, showing her two fingers and putting his hand on her arm.

She nods, holding her hoard and walking to the stairs. “Walk with me?”

“Of course,” Connor loops one of his arms over her shoulders, the other rubbing the arm closest to him. He feels her heart beat hard for a few seconds, but she calms and leans into his touch.

“I was fine up until the end,” She mumbles.

“You’re healing.”

___ grumbles something under her breath, and when the pair reach the top of the stairs she still stays close to him. “Fuck, I wanted to call some ‘a the others, talk about that party this weekend.” She says, dropping her snacks on the side of her bed before sitting down.

“Maybe later. It will be in both of our best interests if you lie down and warm back up.”

“Feel hot though,” She whines, falling back onto the bed.

Connor rolls his eyes and smiles, walking over and putting his palm to her forehead. “Mmm. You’re showing signs of a fever, early stages. Warm now, and then you can take it off when you get too hot.”

She rumbles something again and Connor laughs to himself.

“What’s so funny there?”

“Nothing, you just remind me a lot of Hank.”

“Ach, _rude_ .” She says, although her voice is start to go the littlest bit loopy. “Dad’s a big ol’- ol’- _fuck_ ,” She breathes, rubbing her hands into her eyes.

“Shush and rest.” Connor says again, walking over to the corner of ___’s room and taking a seat on a chair. She responds in a grunt again, adjusting herself on the bed and pulling blankets up to pool around her. Connor waits, mindlessly opening a game of solitaire in his systeming and plays a few rounds.

 

He can tell ___ has fallen asleep when she starts sluggishly pushing blankets from her shoulders, limbs getting caught and her breathing huffs of displeasure. He pauses his game, investigating.  Indeed ___ is asleep, head rolling slowly back and forth on her pillow. Her heartbeat is steady and strong, scans show her temperature has indeed increased, it is a fever. Pursing his lips Connor nods to himself, returning to his chair for a moment as he pulls off his shoes. Then he meanders downstairs as quiet as he can, grabbing an ice pack from ___’s freezer.

The breath she takes when he presses it to her forehead is heart wrenching, the way her lips part and she wheezes into a sigh makes him want to hold her. Her eyes flutter open, and Connor attempts to dissuade her from losing her voice.

“Connor-”

“Don’t worry ___, everything’s going to be fine. I promise.”

She blinks, closing her eyes again and nodding (as weak and slow as it is). She hums something, and speaks softly.

“Stay with me?”

“I’ll be right here.” Connor says just as softly, taking a seat on the unoccupied side of her bed, looking down at her.

* * *

 

Her hands finds its way to his shirt after about an hour, and Connor can't find it in himself to be mad. She sleeps fitfully, and her temperature wobbles up around one hundred and two. He pulls the ice pack away after it warms too much, and when he puts a hand to check her temperature he may keep it there a little longer than necessary. (He’s naturally cooler than humans, and her smile is so sweet he can’t be mean)

The sun has started to set when she wakes up again, she makes him smile.

“Con?”

“Good morning,” he smiles down at her, taking his hand back as she moves to sit more upright.

“Fuck, I feel like shit-”

“You need to get worse before you can get better.” Connor says, “Hungry? Thirsty?”

“Yes and please.” She mumbles, reaching out blindly for a snack. He grabs a water bottle and small packaged snack to pass to her.

“How are you feeling?”

“Shit.” She says again between drinks of water.

“Besides that, silly.” He notices the way she nearly chokes on her water, but doesn’t say anything.

“Hot, tired.” She puts the bottle down and tears open her food.

“Oh, here while you’re awake I’ll go downstairs and replace the ice pack.”

“Oh whatever did I do to-” She starts talking a long melodramatic sentence when she’s interrupted by a coughing fit.

“Go easy on yourself, alright?” Connor says gently, waving his hand in front of her face before rubbing her shoulder. She nods and he takes off. When he returns with a frozen ice pack, ___ is almost asleep again. She makes weak grabby hands for the item and Connor hands it over.

“Status update. How are you feeling.” Connor says, realizing after a second he’s copied one of her vocal mannerisms.

“Tired.”

“Would you like a bedtime story?” He asks, pulling off his thick jacket. Rolling up his sleeves Connor leans against the headboard of ___’s bed, rubbing his thumbs. She nods in reply. “The tower incident?” She nods again, a couple times.

 

“After I went deviant I went to the CyberLife tower to free the others that were still systemized.” Connor looks down, making eye contact with ___ as she looks up at him while she looks at him with awe and pride. “I uh, well CyberLife had made another C- another RK800.” He corrects, ____ is unsettled by the idea of me being replaced_. “And we had to fight each other. It was an evenly matched nightmare.”

Connor clasps his hands together tightly as he continues, “I was afraid. I thought that the revolution would be lost, because I couldn’t beat myself. But then, Hank came in after me. It made me really happy, knowing that he cared that much. Enough to run after me.”

___ hums something, and sleepily runs a hand over Connor’s. Connor opens his hands and holds hers in his.

“We were exactly the same though, and it attempted to imitate me. Convince Hank to shoot me… I remembered Cole, I was emotive and loving, and loving Hank helped me break that final lock, it told Hank who I was. It helped him shoot the machine and save me.”

Connor’s rather zoned out, engrossed in the story.

“I learned that love really does save the day.” He smiles weakly, patting ___’s hand. When he looks up she’s asleep, head leaning just gently against his bicep.

“Oh.” 

* * *

 

Connor doesn’t realize he’s entered a software rest until a low vibration echoes through the dark room, and he throws himself ramrod straight to start scanning everything in the building. It’s ___’s phone, he realizes after a moment, pressing a hand to his chest and blinking away the panicked menus. He moves to stand from bed, when ___ moves and Connor looks down. ___ is draped over his lap, upper body on his legs. Well now he can’t get up.

He rubs his eye and opens up his internal phone system, calling the only person he would think is calling ___.

Hank picks up though, and ___’s phone continues ringing.

“Hey, I was wonderin’ where you were kid. What happened?” Hank sounds happier, he sounds more rested.

“___ was feeling ill, I escorted her home and I’ve been watching over her.” Connor says, “but you’re not calling her?”

“No, I wanted to let you two have your day.”

“I’ll call you back.” Connor says, hanging up and gently pushing the woman from his lap. She moves on the bed and whines, but Connor doesn’t pay it any mind. He walks over to her bag, grabbing the ringing phone and looking at the screen. Unknown caller.

He swipes it open, pressing it to his ear.

The line is silent.

Connor starts doing the best he can to trace the call, his hand is shaking.

He’s a giant ball of nerves, he’s waiting for the automated voice of a telemarketer or an apology from an old friend who starts talking.

 

The caller speaks after a minute of silence.

“Thanks.” Connor hears, he can feel the smile on the callers lips. The work days of analyzing news reports and conferences knocks the wind from him. “I guess Hank isn’t your weakest point any more.”

Connor attempts to breathe, and chokes on air.

“I’ll put her name on the next one. And then your name on her.”

The line goes dead.

 

The machine part of Connor moves quickly, finishes his best attempt of tracing, sends it to the DPD for analysis, calls Hank back. The human part of him sinks to his knees, whole body shaking.

“Connor? Connor what’s up? Con? Son I’m gonna need you to talk to me.”

“Carnegie.” He breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you've enjoyed! Talk to me about this fic ! its so much to write and I'm not sure it's worth it at this point but here we are ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Author's Note:**

> I'm tgapa on tumblr if you wanna talk to me ! Comments and nice messages always encourage me to write more.
> 
> EDIT 8/30: Almost halfway done the last part! There might even be more after dealing with carnegie in an epilogue/sequel


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